


Rebel Yell

by GoodThingsHappenSometimes



Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: A lot - Freeform, Angst, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Don't Examine This Too Closely, Don't Try This At Home, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I am obsessed over Keanu Reeves, I love John Wick, I wrote this because it's therapeutic, I'm Sorry, Kinky sex, Light BDSM, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Not Canon Compliant, Rough Body Play, Rough Sex, Sorry john, Who can not love him, always use condom, body kink, not safe sex, really - Freeform, really not safe, sort of A/B/O occurrence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-04-29 02:03:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14462661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodThingsHappenSometimes/pseuds/GoodThingsHappenSometimes
Summary: John Wick was the whole package: dark hair, bedroom eyes, moody demeanor.And don't forget his focus, commitment and will.Such a darling, dressed in a black suit, could draw everybody's attention.I mean everybody, literally.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first serious attempt to write a fiction. English is not my mother tongue, so if there are any mistakes please forgive me.  
> This fiction is kind of a mashup of two fandom, John Wick's fandom and Suicide Squad's fandom. Also, the whole story is inspired by Jacqueline Carey's books, the Kushiel's Legacy trilogy. If you haven't read them, do it because they are really enjoyable, but you don't need to read them to understand the fiction.  
> You do need to know John Wick's world, though.

 

First chapter

John Wick was Marcus’ last chance. He had been training new assassins for almost twenty years, he used to be one of the best in his area, but during the last two years he had collected quite an excessive amount of failures. First, the chinese boy who had broken the rules of the New York Continental; then, a strong greek man who had had an arrogance far bigger than his talent; finally, a canadian girl who had tried to betray him and kill him for money.

Loyalty was something hard to find, those days. The Families of the High Table were showing him their disappointment and the last months had been hard for his bank account.

John Wick was a small, bright ray of hope. He had met him when he was in the army: pretty young, just twenty – two years old, but strong and self confident and cruel as no one Marcus had met before. He had studied him for a little time, discovering his abilities and watching his improvements day by day. The first time he had finally decided to talk to him, John was in the middle of training camp, dressed with a green t – shirt and green trousers, and his commander was yelling at him because he had refused to cut his hair.

Quickly, unpredictable, the boy hit him in the face with his head, breaking his nose, and then he kicked him in the legs to make him falling on the ground.

Marcus had laughed: that was John’s only flaw, his intense rejection of every authority he didn’t deem it worth of his loyalty, but it was a little price to pay comparing to what he was able to do.

Just like a wild stallion.

He was a waste of talent, in the army, so he had proposed him something different. At the beginning, John had been skeptical and he had refused, but a few days later he had knocked at Marcus’ door to accept.

Training him had been a pleasure, a crazy wild ride, and now that John was finally ready to be introduced to the Court of the High Table Marcus find himself a little nervous but happy as he had never been. He had carefully spread the voice of his little, mysterious, wonder boy, while keeping him away from everyone’s eyes but his own, and the curiosity among the Families and the Owners was reaching the insanity. Most of them were waiting for him to fall and, to be honest, if John had failed, that would have been the end for his reputation as a Patron. But, secretly gazing at the serene profile of his new cub sitting next to him in the back of their car, that wasn’t gonna happen.

The Ball, as they called the ceremony of introduction for new associates, took place in New York that year. Marcus was delighted, he loved the New York Continental and his Owner, Winston, was one of his best friends which meant that he knew perfectly his values and, more important, his weaknesses. He took another look at John: shoulder – length hair so black it could eat any light, against a skin so pale it could make the moon blush and, finally, two lush, dark, feline eyes. His body was tall and lean, well balanced, with the right amount of agility and brute force.

Yeah, definitely he was good enough to make many heads turn.

“Such a beauty, with a talent like yours, would have been a huge waste in the army, sweetheart.”

John didn’t answer, he simply lowered his head and his cheeks flushed a little.

Beautiful, crazy and shy: Winston would have lost his head over him.

They arrived at the Hotel on time, Marcus got out of the car first and went directly to the front door. John, as the tradition required, followed him silently keeping a deferential distance between him and his Patron.

Marcus gave their names to the doorman, who instantly let them in. The hall was already full of people, Marcus greeted some acquaintances with a gesture of the hand but kept himself in the shadow at the edge of the room.

Bertha, the old Concierge who was welcoming pretty efficiently every guest, came to shake his hand.

“Marcus, so good to see you tonight.” she said.

“It’s a pleasure, my dear. You’re in good shape.”

The woman laughed. “Not as much as I want. I’m beginning to think I am too old for a job like this.”

“That’s what I think every single day, lady.”

The two laughed, then she eyed at John.

“Fortunately, we have our little sweet apprentices watching our back.” She turned, with a gesture she called a tall, black man dressed elegantly which couldn’t have been older than John himself.

“Let me introduce to you Charon.” Bertha said, putting her hands on his shoulders in a protective gesture. “In a few years I hope he will reach the qualification.”

“Nice to meet you, Charon.” Marcus said, bowing his head. With just a glance of the eye, he called John at his side. “That’s John Wick, my latest marvel.”

Bertha’s eyes were flaming with curiosity as she looked at the boy. “I see you dressed him Armani.”

Marcus was proud of his choice. That night John was wearing a bespoke, three – pieces suit, made with a rich black fabric. A silk, dark gray shirt and a black tie completed the outfit. With all that dark clothing, that recalled the color of his hair, his pale skin stood out as a white lily in a field of grass.

“Just the best.” Marcus said, with a smirk. Bertha smiled, then she reached out to caress John’s clean shaved cheek. “You are such an eye candy, darling, I hope you are hiding a heart of a lion under this armor of beauty.”

Said that, she turned on her heels and smiled to greet another guest. Charon promptly followed her.

“She was impressed.” Marcus said. “But there’s someone I’d like to impress more than her.”

The hall was full to the limit, by the time two attendant in their dark blue livery opened the doors of the dining room and a classy man, dressed in a blue suit with a bright yellow shirt, came out attracting all the attention to himself.

“That is the Owner.” Marcus whispered in John’s ear, unnecessarily because John had already recognize him. Winston, the Owner of New York Continental, was one of the most powerful man in the town, almost at the same level of the chiefs of the Families at the High Table. He was in his late thirties, but there was just a hint of gray in his brown hair to show his age. His face was like stone, hard and incorruptible and pensive. He was… fascinating, to say the least.

“Dear guests, I’m happy to see you all here tonight. Please, come in.” he invited them to join him inside the dining room. Slowly, the hall emptied.

The room was as big as a, entire house, with tall ceilings and huge windows covered by velvet curtains. Two long tables showed a vast amount of food, the buffet the Owner offered to his guests. An orchestra made of violins and a harpist was playing a soft song. They were all there, the Underworld, or at least its main exponents. There were the chiefs of the Families, the twelve biggest criminal associations in the world, with their henchmen; the Owners of every other Continental hotel of the world; the Patrons, such as Marcus, with their apprentices, plus many other various people like freelance assassins and associates. It was hard to assemble such people in just one room, in peace. Most of them were at war with each other but, if there was a law made to be respected it said that it was forbidden to conduct business inside the area of the Continental, so the most violent expression of hate one could see during the night could be nothing more than a deceiving gaze to your enemy. Many waiters were ready to help with the service, but it was tradition that the same apprentices served the drinks to the guests: it was a way to present themselves, to show off, and Marcus was excited to see John parading. One of the presents, that night, could have become his new owner and a good introduction had the power to add a 0 in the final check.

  


John, from his point of view, felt nervous and annoyed at the same time. He walked around with a tray full of glasses and, every time a guests asked for him, he had to come closer and make a little bow. It was kind of humiliating, a way to show his submission to the participants, but it was necessary. He was willing to make a good impression, for his Patron, because he had grown fond of Marcus and he knew all the problems the older man had had with the previous apprentices.

He swallowed down his pride and keep serving the drinks. He know appearance was important as much as talent, to create a good curriculum. In half an hour, more than just a pair of eyes started to follow him and gossips started whenever he went. His tray was always empty.

“It seems like you’re doing a good job.” another apprentice said. He was bald, with a little beard and light brown skin. He was probably from middle eastern.

John nodded and rest against a chair while waiting for a waiter to refill the glasses on his tray.

“You’re Marcus’ new, right?”

John looked at him. “And you’re Gianni’s new.”

The man smiled, a little, than nodded. “I’m Cassian.”

“John.” he answered, quickly, before throwing himself again into the party.

Meanwhile, the guests were eating and chatting and delighting their eyes with the apprentices. 

The tradition established that, after the dinner, the apprentices challenged one another in a fight, to show off in front of everyone’s attention. After that, the Families and the Owners took part in an auction to grab up the new assassin they admired the most. The entire sum went to the Patrons’ benefit, that way they were repaid for their efforts and for the training, while the apprentices, finally free from his debt of honor, were granted with a house to serve with their talents until their chiefs were satisfied. Many assassins spent their lives serving the same Family, others made an agreement to become freelances. If they lived enough, they could become Patrons.

Usually, no one lived enough to enjoy the retirement.

By the way, while on the leash of a Family, the assassin was obliged to serve it exclusively with everything he could. There was very little the chief couldn’t ask, to his assassin, sex included. To be honest, sex was almost always included. It was an unspoken part of the deal, subtle yet bold. 

For the most part of the chiefs, marriage was just a mean to an end: achieve an heir to their Families, to their business. Such marriages, however useful, most often than not were… unpleasant. After a long day of work, chiefs had the right to relax and enjoy a pleasurable liaison with someone, and who could have been better than their own personal assassins? 

After all, monsters mated better with over monsters. A bendy bisexuality could be important as much as a lethal disposition.

That was also why making a good first impression was pretty important.

The dinner was coming to an end, when Marcus came searching him.

“You’re doing an amazing job, dear.” he said, picking one glass of white wine from his tray. “All the room is buzzing of gossips about you. However,” he got closer to whisper in his ear.. “I didn’t failed to noticed you haven’t served the Owner yet. Please, go and offer him the best you’ve got.”

Marcus quirked an eyebrow and encouraged him by pushing him on the small of his back. John sighed, than went to the waitress to ask for a refill.

“Red wine, robust, bold.” he asked. She smiled and started to fill the glasses.

“Red wine?” Cassian was behind him, again. “Interesting request. For whom, I wonder.”

“You’re too pretty to think, Cassian.”

The guy laughed. John thought that he must have been younger than him, maybe twenty years old.

“You’re flattering me, John. Everybody seems to think you’re the pretty sweet angel baby, tonight.”

John fixed his attention on the wine, falling slowly into the glasses. The color of blood.

“Pay attention to what your Patron wants you to aim at.” Cassian whispered, eyeing at a far corner in the room. John saw the Owner, Winston, among other men, chatting. “Gianni thinks Marcus is ambitious, maybe a little too much. Are you willing to fly towards the sun, for him?”

John blinked once. “The destination isn’t important, what really matters is having good wings.”

Cassian smiled. “Can’t wait to break them on the field, then.”

John left him behind, his attention focused to the little group on the other side of the room.

“Wine, sirs?” he asked, politely, when he reached them. Winston turned to him and stared. An incredibly long stare: for some reasons, he seemed… surprised. For a few seconds, nobody spoke.

“Finally something I would like a taste of.” said a man around his forties, clear blonde hair touched with white, pale skin covered with an elegantly cut beard and light blue eyes. If the strong accent he was speaking with was of any indication, John guessed he was russian. He offered him a glass of red wine, lowering his gaze and making a little respectful bow. He saw the tattoos on his hand, he immediately recognized him by them: a chief, from the Bratva, the russian mafia.

The actual chief of the Family was Viggo Tarasov, known for his hard methods and his ways to conduct businesses with a stainless steel fist. His assassins were the cruelest and the best paid on the market.

He took a look of John with his icy eyes. He smirked, clearly pleased for what he saw.

“Or, a bite of.”

John swallowed, he didn’t appreciate that raw attention of his.

“Who are you, young gentleman?” Winston asked, still a little offset, still unable to take off his eyes from him or to move to grab a glass. John, too, felt unbalanced: from afar, he hadn’t noticed how rich was the shade of green in his eyes.

“I think he is the apprentice of Marcus.” Another man in the group intervened. He was the chief of the Manhattan’s Jacuza.

Winston eyes shone, with recognition. “I see. I heard about you, you’re Jonathan.”

John smiled, coyly, but before he could correct the mistake, Viggo did it in his place. “Just John, I heard.”

Winston lowered his gaze, not embarrassed but just confused. John felt something oddly jumping in his chest.

“It’s okay, I can be Jonathan for you.”

They looked each other in the eyes from a few seconds, then John offered him his tray and made a bow much deeper than any other he had already made in the night. Winston took a glass and sipped some wine, deep in thought.

“I long to see you fight, boy.” Viggo said, then with a harsh smile he switched to his mother language: “O, ya khotel by videt', kak krov' techet na tvoyem potryasayushchem litse” _Oh, I would want to see blood streaming_ _down_ _your stunning face_. 

John simply blinked, unimpressed. “Mne bylo by priyatno” _It would be my pleasure_ .

Viggo’s smile faltered a little, just to deepen later.

John walked away, the sensation of at least four eyes solidly fixed on his back, his cheeks on flame.

He caught sight of Marcus, he had been watching all the scene and he looked pleased. He lifted his glass to him.

In that moment, a trumpet sang. The orchestra stopped playing music and the guests moved to the sides of the dining room.

A waitress came to take his tray away from him. Few moments later, Winston took the word.

“I hope you all appreciated my food and my wine.” He started. “Now, it’s time to come to the reason that gathered us all here tonight. Patrons, please, take a step forward.”

All the Patrons aligned, one next to the other, studying the crowd with pride. Being a Patron was a great honor, it meant that you had been such good at avoid death to become old. Every Patron was beyond his fifties, the youngest one was Marcus who had decided to retire at the age of forty.

“Patrons, when called, show your apprentices.”

The silence grew in the room loud, like a sound.

“Gianni Romagnoli.”

An old man, maybe seventy years old, answered: “My apprentice is Cassian Buscema.”

Cassian approached his Patron and, as the tradition taught, he stopped about a meter away from him, giving him the back, facing the guests.

The presentation went on its way, slowly and surely, in complete order and silence, up to Marcus.

“Marcus Greensfield.”

Marcus lifted his chin and answered: “My apprentice is John Wick.”

Some chatting followed John’s walk until his place, in front of Marcus. A few whispers, some laughs. John chose to ignore them.

When the last apprentice was introduced, Winston declared: “Let the Challenge begin!”

The Challenge consisted in attacking the apprentice at your right or left side, to fight against him and then, once he’s defeated, to keep on fighting against another one until there was just one apprentice standing above all.

Apart from the ban on using any kind of weapons, the Challenge had no rules. It was terribly hard and quick.

John had just the time to turn on his side that a girl was just trying to make him fall on the floor. He avoided her first punches, then he hit her on the stomach and, when she curled on herself coughing, he slammed an elbow on her back. She hit the ground with a loud sound. John didn’t look back, not for a second, he went on the next apprentice. He was a huge japanese guy, who hit him violently in the face and on the right arm, but in the end he put both hands up in defeat, his nose bleeding and his wrist probably broken.

It continued like that for a few minutes and a mexican boy, a german girl and a russian dude: when he couldn’t help himself with his brute force, John won with his agility and his intellect.

When the last lament died, the only other apprentice still standing was Cassian. They looked at each other, moving slowly one towards the other, studying each other like two predators.

The crowd was in thunderous silence.

Cassian made a tentative step closer to him, to take him by surprise, but John didn’t pull back. They attacked almost at the same time, mimicking their moves, hitting whenever and wherever it was allowed. John saw a moment, when his rival was distracted by fatigue, and thanks to a kick on the legs he made him fall on his knees. He grab his head with both his hands and put his own knee on his back. Cassian tried to free himself, but it was useless. Finally, when he was breathing loudly and choking, he raised up both his hands.

John was the undefeated apprentice.

The silence in the room keep growing, but he couldn’t hear it: his ears were buzzing by the sound of his own heart, beating faster from fear and adrenaline. He spit a mouthful of blood. His head was in pain, actually his entire face was screaming in agony and so was his right arm and his legs.

But when Winston stood and clapped his hands, he forgot everything.

The whole crowd burst into a long applause.

Next thing he saw was the smile from Marcus: a smile full of joy, and pride.

He wondered why he couldn’t see clear. He reached at his face and then he looked at his blood covered hand.

_Oh, I would want to see blood streaming_ _down_ _your stunning face._

He looked at the spot where he had seen Viggo Tarasov first. The man was still there, directly looking at him, openly showing his awe.

  


When finally the doctors came in to take care of the wounded apprentices, Winston allowed himself to released a breath he hadn’t realized to hold. He got down from the stage, where some waiters where preparing for the auction. He didn’t need to think about who would have been the most appreciated gem of the sale.

He had imposed himself to not watch in his direction, but he couldn’t help it. John was smiling at Marcus, his pale lips broken by a fist, the dark messy hair and the shirt teared up and missing two buttons.

He was painfully astounding.

Viggo Tarasov surprised him, hugging him from behind and relaxing his head in the crook between his neck and the shoulder. Winston could feel his breath on his ear, when he talked.,ì

“Beautiful, isn’t he?” He was looking at his same object of attention. “I believe I’m in love.”

Winston chewed nervously at his bottom lip, then he wiggled out of his arms and walked away.

He feared he had showed too much.

Arms rigidly straight on his sides, he close both hands in fists.

  


The auction began when the doctors left the room. By the time, every apprentice could sport white bandages in some parts of their bodies and some of them even plasters.

They aligned next to their Patrons, waiting with great anticipation to know who would have bought their loyalty and their services.

As the tradition dictated, a third part could preside over the auction. That to give to every guest the opportunity to participate and make a bid.

Also, the winning apprentice had to be the last of the queue. John had to wait until everyone else was sold.

Marcus hold his hand, squeezing it. “You did a fantastic job, John. I am so freaking proud of you.”

John smiled, just a little one. “Maybe, if I am worth it, my bid will be so generous to let you pay all your debts.”

Marcus’ smile faltered. His bank account had been empty for months, thanks to his latest failures with his apprentices, and he had sealed accords with more than one moneylender. They were searching for him, if he didn’t give back soon the sums he had asked for they would have killed him.

John Wick was really his last chance.

The auction was held by a man from Christies’, Winston’s good friend. The first one to be sold was the girl who had hit John first.

The Owner of the Barcelona’s Continental made the highest bid. 3 millions of dollars.

The second was the japanese guy. Tanaka, the chief of the local Jakuza, bought him without competitors. 4 millions of dollars.

The auction went without glitches for half and hour, safe from the fight between Severino d’Antonio and Marco Denaro for Cassian. It was a habit, for the D’Antonio Family, to buy every cub Gianni could train and that night wasn’t an exception: Cassian was sold for 8 millions of dollars. A considerable offer.

John could see the satisfaction in Cassian’s eyes while he grinned triumphantly in his direction, even if he had a bruise forming around his neck the size of John’s hands he rejoiced like a winner. John watched as Severino D’Antonio, an impressively tall man with gray hair at the head of italian Camorra, kissed happily a young girl, maybe still not in her twenties, on her cheek. She looked very much alike him, tall and imperious with chin proudly lifted.

“She’s her daughter.” Marcus explained. “Gianna D’Antonio. He has another son, a boy, but he’s too young to participate at this kind of social life, besides rumors has Severino has already chosen the girl as his heir. Cassian will be his gift to her designation.”

The next on the auction’s list was John himself. By that moment, the expectation to see how high the price would have been for him was greater than ever.

Once his name was said out loud by the auctioneer, someone made an offer before everyone could even think about it.

It was an incredible offer.

“20 millions of dollars.” Viggo Tarasov had a cocky smile, he looked at every other guest in the room with calm self – confidence.

Winston hardly kept his face blank and his mouth closed.

  


When the auction ended, some guests paid homage to the Owner and left. Severino D’Antonio and his wonderful daughter were among them. The majority, however, enjoyed the party a little more. The orchestra was playing a nice music on the stage and, while someone was having fun at getting drunk, someone else let the dance begin.

The tradition imposed to the community a gift, a present for the new assassins, which was usually a week of peace and relaxation at the Continental. Probably, the last in their entire life. They could spend it with their Patrons, free of charge, as a way to part from them before going with their new bosses.

It was like a ceremony, a farewell to the old life they had lived until the day, and it was inviolable. The bosses couldn’t reclaim their propriety over the apprentices until the very end of the week, in return for their patience they didn’t have to spend a dollar just before they could claim them.

This could lead to second thoughts from their part, it was uncommon but it could happen and the rules were very clear: an apprentice couldn’t choose the Family, but the Family could choose the apprentice and ensure their services under payment of a sum to his or her Patron. The Family had to concede a week of freedom, after the introduction party, to the apprentice: during that time the Family couldn’t approach or physically threaten the apprentice or the Patron. At the seventh day, the Family could pay the Patron and close the contract or transfer the duty and the honor to a third part, a Family or a Owner, who could cover the same money offer or a higher one.

John looked at Viggo and something in the way the man kept glancing at him made him think that nothing in the world could have changed his mind. The russian was cheerfully making a toast with his brother Abram, all flushed cheeks from the wine and the excitement and bright eyes and disheveled hair. He had taken off jacket and tie, just a button opened under his pale neck, sleeves rolled up to show his hairy forearms.

John glanced away, slowly swallowing. So that was his new family, from now on. Nothing would have been the same.

He searched Marcus and found him next to Winston. For some reasons, the Owner’s appearance calm him. He moved towards them.

“Oh, that’s my boy. That’s my beautiful boy!” shouted Mark, when he was near enough. The Patron encircled his shoulders with an arm, drinking wine from an almost empty bottle with the other. “Quite an intense evening, for you, eh?”

John gave him a little smile, then he looked at Winston. The man was standing with hands behind his back, apparently as quiet and relaxed as someone could be after a good party, but his eyes told another story. He was studying John, a fascinated yet apprehensive light in his green irises.

It made him standing a little straighter.

“The last standing apprentice, the highest offer I’ve ever heard of. Marcus was right, about you,” he inclined a little his head, playfully. “You really are something special, it seems.”

John lowered his gaze, slightly embarrassed. “Your words flatter me, sir.”

“Tonight you have enchanted all my guests and transformed an ordinary party into one worth to remember. Maybe I should be flatter by your only presence, darling.”

John didn’t have the occasion to reply, because someone approached them loudly commenting: “What a good night, my precious Winston.” Viggo was saying. When John turned to look at him, he stared in his eyes deeply. “You spilled more blood on this grounds than I’ve ever seen, son. I found it reinvigorating and… oddly exciting.”

Desire. There was pure and simple desire in those light blue eyes. Such an attention send a shiver down John spine.

“You know the rules, Viggo.” Marcus remembered. “No approaching, no contacts.”

“Ever so respectful of the tradition, Marcus.” the russian groaned. “Then well, see you in a week sweety.”

He walked away, with his men and his brother right next to him. When he was at the exit, he glanced behind him just for the pleasure to discover John’s attention on him.

He grinned, openly pleased, and disappeared in his dark, wool coat.

John put his attention back to the conversation he was in, only to find that Winston’s own attention had never left him.

“Viggo Tarasov is an important and powerful boss.” he commented. “He has… quite a name. It won’t be easy for a new one to keep up on his longings.”

“Good thing that I’m one like no one, then.”

Winston deep stare made him feel uncomfortable more than Viggo’s blood lust. “Thank you for your hospitality, sir. Please, excuse me, but I’d like to go to my room.”

“I see, you must be tired, John.”

“No, please, Jonathan. Do you remember?” he corrected him. Winston tilted his head on the side, a shy smile on his pink lips, then nodded. With the hand he pointed at the hall. “Jonathan, then. Bertha will give you your key. Enjoy your stay.”

Marcus was looking at both of them, quite confused. John gave him a tense smile and went away.

  



	2. Second Chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the second chapter of my humble, little story. I am still trying to recover from the PTSD the cruel Marvel gave me (fuck Infinity War), with all the news and photos from John Wick 3's set.  
> If you are in a similar situation as mine, feel free to contact me. I'd like to talk about it.  
> If you think I am crazy, then maybe you're right. Madness makes life so much interesting.

John’s room was unnecessarily luxurious and spacious. It definitely must have been a suite, or something like that. He had expected a more modest and humble accommodation, for an apprentice like him, and after two years in the navy and a year in Marcus’ small apartment, he felt a little unease in such a big king size bed.

He slept for a few hours, in his dreams he saw Cassian smiling at him and Viggo’s voice shouting “20 millions of dollars” at the auction. And Winston.

Winston.

When he woke up, the alarm clock on the night stand informed him it was half past six in the morning. He knew that probably trying to sleep some more was a wiser idea, but he couldn’t stay still with his thoughts poking him like that: it was like he had an electric shock in his nerves.

He took a shower, then he looked at himself naked in front of the room’s mirror to check his bruises. Nothing too serious, just a couple of cuts already healing. He had a purple bruise on the side of the head, above the eyebrow : Cassian had done that, it stood like a dark reminder on his perfect white skin.

The suit from the night before was ruined. It was a pity, because Marcus had spent a lot of money to buy it for him. After all, he had proved to be a good investment, if his price was of any indication.

He was thinking about opening his suitcase to pick something new to wear, but he decided to eat breakfast first. He couldn’t stand to see anyone, especially the other apprentices, or to talk about the previous night, so he discarded he possibility to go downstairs and he called the room service.

Five minutes later, someone knocked at the door. He wrapped a towel around his hips and opened, expecting the waiter with his food. It wasn’t him, but Charon.

He glanced at his rather messy attire and smiled, gently.

“The Owner would like to invite you for a private breakfast.”

“How much private?”

“Very.”

John raised an eyebrow. “Just the two of us?”

Charon mimicked his expression. “Just the two of you.”

John bite at his lower lip. “It’s not against the rule, right?”

“The Owner has never done something to break the rules of the tradition, mister Wick.”

John looked at him straight in the eyes, trying to read something behind that blank face. “Fine. Just let me find something proper to wear...”  
“With all respect, mister Wick, the Owner has provided you with some clothing in your wardrobe.”

“What?”  
Charon smiled again, coyly. “You can join the Owner on the roof, as soon as you’ll be ready.”

John checked his wardrobe, the wardrobe he thought empty, and found two black suit: one for the day and one for the night. There were also two ties along with two shirts, one was blue and one was white, and a pair of fine italian shoes.

Everything looked expensive. He shook his head. Every was so strange, the room and the invitation and now, the clothes.

He put on the trousers of the day suit, the blue shirt and the shoes. He left ties and jackets in the wardrobe, he chose to let the first two buttons of the shirt opened to achieve a more casual, relaxed look. It was just half past seven in the morning, it was kind of weird to already be that elegant.

Yet, Marcus had told him about the importance of being always well dressed for an assassin’s reputation.

That was another thing he found strange, but he could get used to it.

He wrote a note and left it on his door, to inform his Patron that it was out for breakfast in case he was searching for him.

He took the elevator to the roof. He didn’t know what to expect once there, he had never been to the Continental before and so everything was a mistery. Roof included.

When the elevator’s doors opened, he saw a nice and well cared for garden, with everything you could find in a normal garden, such as grass, trees, an hedge, a little pond with a bridge. Except they weren’t in a park, or in the countryside, but on a skyscraper’s roof in New York. 

Two huge guards stopped him.

“The Owner is not available now.” one of them said. John looked at the hand on his chest with composure, then he answered back: “I think he’s waiting for me.”

“Jonathan?” A voice called, from the middle of the garden. Winston came to greet him.

“Sorry for the inconvenience. Please, be my guest.”

He led him to a table for two, set up with all kind of food, from croissants to scrambled eggs and sausages and fruit.

Winston sat down and asked him: “What do you usually drink? Coffee, milk, tea?”

“Black coffee will be good, thank you.”

The waiter served them with hot coffee, then he left them alone.

“It looks like you haven’t slept much. Problems with your room?”

“No, actually the accommodation is quite excessive for me. Yesterday evening was quite stressful and I wasn’t able to catch sleep once I got in my room.”

“I see. Was it just the adrenaline, to keep you awake, or was it something else?”

“Like what?”

Winston remained silent for a good minute, while he ate his omelet. He was reflecting about something, maybe weighing the consequences of what he was going to say out loud.

“The bid for you is impressive.”

“That’s something that could keep someone awake at night. An investment very difficult to refund.”

“It seems like Viggo is considering to keep you for the longest of time.”

John sipped silently at his coffee. “It seems like that.”

“And you’re good with that?”

John tilted his head to the side, a bit confused. “I’m sorry, that’s an issue I would face if I had the chance to choose.”

Winston put down the pieces of cutlery on his empty dish with methodical attention, then he scratched at his clean – shaven chin almost absent – mindedly.

“I know, the Family choose the apprentice but the apprentice can’t choose the Family. But does that mean you haven’t considered over it? Not for a minute? About Viggo and his amazing proposal?”

“Of course I have. They don’t pay for my brain, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t think at all.”

“So? What do you think?” Winston encouraged him.

John set down his almost empty cup of coffee. “Can I be candid?”

“Please.”

“I think that the real question here is why are you asking me such a question.”

A sparkle crossed Winston’s stony eyes, a quick sign of light.

“Maybe I’m just worried. Marcus is an old friend of mine, I know he’s in a situation of great difficulty and I want this deal to end the best way for him.”

John leaned against the backrest of the chair, crossing his arms on his chest.

“You don’t have to worry about that, I assure you. I am the most valuable of the goods.”

Winston raised an eyebrow. “I see.”

“But because I have asked you to be candid, let me just noticed that: if you really were worried about Marcus, he would be here now at my place. So early in the morning, eating breakfast with you, in your private area, wearing your gift. Don’t offend my intelligence, please.”

Winston’s jaw worked, voice tense and ironic. “Don’t you believe that you’re being too frank for your own good?”

“If you had liked a more pleasurable conversation, you would have invited everything else in your hotel.”

“So why you? Have you got any ideas about why I called you here?”

“I haven’t. Do you?”

They studied each other for some seconds, then John cleaned his mouth on his napkin and stood up.

“Thank you for breakfast. I’m sorry if I wasn’t worthy of you expectation.”

He turned to leave. Winston run after him and stopped him by grabbing his arm.

“Jonathan, don’t leave.” he said, a completely honest look in his deep eyes. “Please.” he added.

John gazed at the hand closed around his arm, swallowing. Winston noticed it and left him free.

He sighed. “Well, now that’s a question I’m not able to answer.”

John furrowed his eyebrows. “I presume I’m not able to help you answering it, either.”

Winston laughed softly, then he pointed at the breakfast table now behind him. “Shall we sit down and start all over again?”

The assassin lowered his gaze to the floor. “Do you believe it’s appropriate?”

Winston flinched, then lowered his gaze too. “I think not.”

John nodded, then made a little bow. “Have a good day, Winston.”

He walked to the elevator, desperately trying to not think about how cryptic and inexplicable the conversation had been.

  


Winston looked at Jonathan while he was walking away. The trousers and the shirt fit him so perfectly it was almost painful. The blue of the shirt matched with the color of the circles under his eyes.

He hadn’t slept much, or well.

Winston knew the feeling.

Maybe he had done a mistake inviting Jonathan up there for breakfast.

A huge mistake.

What had he thought could have happened? It was getting out of his control. It was already out of his control.

He rubbed his face and tried to calm the hammering beating of his heart.

  


John came back to his room, only to find Marcus waiting in front of his door fidgeting with the note he had left.

“Good morning, lad.”

“Good morning Marcus.”

“You’re looking good, that’s a new suit?

John looked at himself. “Yeah, it’s a gift. I guess.”

Marcus raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t comment on that. “You got up early, you didn’t sleep well?”

“I was hungry.”

Marcus glanced at the note in his hands. “Did you enjoy your breakfast?”

John blinked, his stomach growled. “I didn’t eat too much.”

Marcus nodded, his eyes half – closed. John slowly exhaled, knowing perfectly where that conversation was leading.

“You searched for me in the common room and you didn’t find me.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sold, Marcus, but that doesn’t mean you can’t openly speak to me anymore.”

The older man smiled, bitterly, running a hand through his hair. “It’s such a hard situation, for me, dear.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Can I come in?” he asked, aiming at the door. John took off the key from his pocket and opened it.

Once in the room, Marcus sit on the already unmade bed and patted on the spot next to him, inviting John to approach.

“I think I have to apologize to you. For yesterday evening.”

“For what?”

Marcus kept his attention on the little piece of paper he was crumpling in his hand.

“I was so happy I finally earned a good profit, so good I could stop thinking about my debts, to ask you how you felt about it.”

“I feel good enough, Marcus.”

“Don’t lie to me, son.” He pat on his thigh. “I know I couldn’t ask you anything else, to you, now, but indulge me in this. Be honest.”

John inhaled. “We had a deal, Marcus. One year of your time for my salvation, my price for your life. Without you, I would have no direction or honor and I would be a lost man now or worse. Without that money I earned you, you would be soon a dead man.”

“Viggo Tarasov’s money, John.” Marcus bent towards him. “You heard the stories.”

“I know it’s a terrible man, but he is respectful of the tradition and, as soon as I show me worthy of his trust, my life will not be worse than it could have been under any other boss.”

“Viggo is cruel, terrifying and unscrupulous. He is a tyrant. To survive him, you’ll have to become worse than him.”

“If that’s what it takes, that’s what I’ll do. Besides, if there’s someone who can handle his particular tendencies, that’s me.”

Marcus stood up and looked him in the eye. “I wish we had a choice.”

“But we haven’t. I wish we could write our own destiny, but fate chose for both of us and for me it’s Viggo and the Bratva. All we have is a deal.”

Marcus grabbed the door handle, then he said: “Anyway, I’m sorry sweetheart. I hoped for the better. Actually, I thought things could go differently, I thought someone else...” He stopped, then he shook his head in disbelief. “But maybe, after all, you are too much of a talent to go unnoticed.”

John stared at him, with a blank look. “You have protect me for as long as you could. Now it’s on me.”

Once Marcus was out, John curled himself in bed, bit at his fist as hard as he could manage and suffocated a cry.

He hadn’t eaten anything yet, but he wasn’t hungry anymore.

  


He spent most of the day in his room, avoiding strange encounter, finally getting to eat something by ordering room service around midday and then getting in a white t – shirt and a pair of loose sweatpants to go to the hotel’s gym. A training session had always helped him to keep his mind clear and, after the last evening and that morning, God only knew how much he would have loved to spend some time without thinking. He found the place almost empty, safe for a man and a woman who were in the treadmills’ area and stopped chatting to glance at him when he passed by. 

John elected to ignore them. When he ended his workout he was so sweaty and positively sore that all he could ask for was a shower and a banana smoothie.

In the locker room it was so hot he immediately stripped out of his clothes and hit the shower. The stream of water stroke his back and shoulders like a lover’s hug.

He sighed, eyes closed, and he was finally beginning to relax when he heard steps approaching.

He instinctively stiffened, straightening his back and listening.

Someone came to touch lightly the skin of his back. He quickly turned, ready for the fight, only to face a completely naked man like him with a cocky smile printed on his face and a bruise on his neck the shape of a hand.

“Sorry to annoy you, mr. Wick. As everyone call you, by now.”

“What the fuck are you doing, Cassian?”

The guy raised both his hands, to show his capitulation, but he took one step forward nonetheless, invading John’s personal space more than he liked.

“I’m here to admit my personal defeat, John. You were really good, yesterday evening, the best. Congratulations.”

John studied him, his eyes half – closed.

“I want also to make you my best wishes of a good service, under the Bratva.”

“I wish I could do the same, instead I’d like to give an advice on your italian future: be careful on that sweet girl, or she’ll break without a second thought.”

Cassian smile faltered, just for a moment though. John turned his back to him, resuming his task of washing himself, refusing to pay more attention on that conversation.

He felt Cassian’s hot hands against his own skin, when he spoke again his voice was near his ear enough to make him shiver.

“I’m not the only one who had to watch his back, John. Our fate is not ours anymore, and the russian will enjoy to play with this beautiful expanse of pale skin of yours. They will write their story on it.”

Cassian kissed him on the nape, then he disappear. John listened to his steps going away, then he stayed under the water stream until he couldn’t anymore.

When he came back to his room it was evening. He had lost every sense of time.

  


The next two days went by without any relevant event. John spent most of the time in the gym, avoiding Cassian, in the underground firing range, at the bar in the basement.

The barmaid was cute. She was young, maybe younger than him, with dark hair and intense eyes. She had a lot of tattoos, on the arms and even on the neck. She became quite fond of him, and she always had a bottle of bourbon ready for him in the evening.

It was nice, the bar, a good place with loud music and low lights where you could forget your thoughts and relax. Maybe it could have become his peaceful spot.

He saw Marcus, in the dark. Alone. Sipping at a beer. They looked at each other, but John didn’t feel like talking to him. Marcus knew it, and he didn’t try to approach him.

Even if he tried to shrug it off, he had the feeling that someone was following him. In the gym, in the firing range, even at the bar. It was a crazy thought, he knew it was, but he couldn’t ignore it. He had learned to trust his instinct.

So one night he pretended to come back to his room from his bar trip, as he always did, but instead of closing the door completely he left it partially open.

A few minutes after, a silhouette emerged from the dark and walked in his line of vision.

John took a breath and got out, pushing with his left arm the other man to the nearest wall.

“Why all this attention on me, Winston?”

Winston, the Owner, still recovering from the surprise, had the same expression of a boy caught with his hands in the cookies’ jar.

“Jonathan.” he gasped. He was slightly shorter than the assassin, so he had to keep his chin up to avoid being poked by John’s elbow. That way, he couldn’t escape John’s dark gaze.

“Don’t tell me it’s about me winning an old and violent challenge, that could be good for Viggo and his blood lust, but you are a different kind of man.”

The older man smiled, a touch of ironic sadness in the gesture. “How much can you possibly know me, son? We met a few days ago, and we’ve barely spoken together since then.”

“From a poker face to another, it took me just a look in your eyes.” John raised his eyebrows. “Am I so wrong?”

Winston laughed softly. “No, you aren’t.”

John got closer to him, until there were barely a few breaths between their faces. In the dim lights of the hallway he basked into the deep browny green of his eyes, the amber tone of his skin, the rich shade of chestnut brown of his hair with just a hint of gray. He smelled good, like leather and books and Martini.

“I am talking seriously, Winston: what do you want from me?”

The man leaned on the wall, trying to put as much distance between them as he could.

“What could I ask from an already sold apprentice? Nothing.”

A touch of regret.

“Why are you spying on me?”

Winston looked away. “I am not spying on anyone.”

John laughed. “Yeah, of course.”

“Could you please let me go? What you are doing is dangerous, and rude.”

“I would define rude to follow one of your guests unseen, hidden in the shadow.”

Winston frowned. “I could punish you for your actions, you know. attacking the Owner in his own hotel is quite brazen.”

“And what are you waiting? I am no afraid of punishment. Maybe it’s you, maybe you worry that you could quite like, to punish me.”

“Let me go, I said.”

John tilted his head to the side, watching his lips. They were so pink and thin, so finely drawn. He bit at his own bottom lip.

Winston followed his stare and swallowed, loudly.

“Viggo Tarasov desired me for my skills, and for my body, and I think he will like my tolerance of pain. And you, Winston?” He looked him straight in the eyes.

“Me, what?” Winston voice was barely a whisper.

John’s was husky. “What do you desire me for?”

The Owner opened his eyes wide, but he didn’t answer. John took a step back.

“You know, you could have gone away whenever you wanted. I was barely touching you.”

He turned his back to the older man and closed the door of his room.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos! If you feel like you can leave me a comment, I won't bite.  
> Promise.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I'm finally here with a new chapter and lot of good vibes from Deadpool 2 and from new photos of the set of John Wick 3!  
> Good vibes are all for me.  
> The new chapter is sexy and brooding, you're welcome.

Next morning John realized that, in three days, he would have to leave the Continental safe grounds to enter in a new world full of danger and violence.

To psychologically prepare himself, he decided to try and find a way to forget about Winston and their confused conversations and concentrate on his future family.

That’s why he searched for Marcus and then they went together to the hotel’s library.

It was a really big room, full of books of the underground history of New York. Every document was kept carefully classified, so only the associates could take advantage of the information.

John and Marcus spent all day reading about the Bratva and the Tarasov Family. Marcus had taught him a lot about the High Table’s history, so he perfectly knew what was worth to know about everyone including Viggo.

Viggo’s father had been at the head of Bratva for years when his brother killed him and his wife. The purpose of that terrible act was to achieve his place at the High Table. Viggo was only seventeen, at that time. His uncle took pity on him, considering him young enough to be raised at his side. It turned out to be a great mistake: Viggo earned his uncle’s trust, he became the head of his security, then one night he got him drunk and then he killed him in his sleep.

Viggo was appointed youngest chief of the Bratva and member of the High Table.

After almost twenty years, he was still one of the most dangerous pieces in the city’s game.

An in – depth analysis on him, for this reason and one hundred more, could only do good.

It was six o’ clock, and they were putting all the books and papers away, when Winston came in. He glanced at John, greeted Marcus with a gesture of his head and went away.

John studied Marcus reaction. He looked unimpressed.

“You know what’s wrong with him.” he noted.

Marcus gazed at him, eyes half – close. “Something happened between you two, am I wrong?”

John didn’t answer, instead he stood up from his armchair and resumed his task to clean up the place.

“You’re wearing a new suit. Is that a gift from Viggo?”

John licked his lips and looked at him, straight in the eyes. “You already know the answer to your question. On the other side, I still haven’t got an answer to mine. What is wrong with him?”

Marcus laughed, soflty. “Always so straightforward, my sweetheart. Impatience is, at the same time, the worst flaw and the best quality in you.”

John waited for his Patron to continue. After a deep breath, looking at his own crossed hands, he said: “Did you wonder why he call you Jonathan?”

John nodded.

“And did you get yourself an explanation?”

John shook his head.

“I didn’t play clean, to be honest, with both of you. I knew the effect you would have had on him and so I hoped that he would have made an offer for you. A good one. It would have granted you a bright career, at the service of the Continental’s management.”

“Why did you think he would have made a move on me?”

Marcus looked at him, for some time, silently. Then, almost distractedly, he passed an hand through his hair.

“Do you like him?”

John was taken aback.

“Is it important?”

“It was. It is no more, I’m sorry to say your path was chosen, but you can’t pursue it now.”

“Talk to me, Marcus.” John was growing tired of playing riddles with him.

Marcus groaned, but he looked defeated. John knew that look, he had seen it a lot of time on different people’s faces. His parents’, for example. “The key is the name, Jonathan.”

“Who is Jonathan?”

“Who was Jonathan, actually. What I am about to tell you is confidential, a very few people know all the story and I have to ask you to be discreet. But I know you will be.”

Marcus poured himself a glass of wine, the bottle he had asked from the bar about an hour before was almost empty. In those days, his Patron was drinking like something bothered him. 

“Jonathan, like you, was an associate and an assassin. He was a freelance, I know he worked for the Jacuza and the Italian Mafia, he had a collaboration even with the Bratva. He was good, really good, at his job. He was everything, you know: he was a cruel man, accurate and full of will. He was also beautiful, that kind of brooding beauty that makes your knees shaking and your head turning. And Winston noticed him, of course. They fell in love with each other, their relationship remained in the Continental’s safe grounds for some years. But Winston wanted more, he was only a concierge at that time and he proposed Jonathan and asked him to retire. They planned to get married and run away from this world but, as you can guess, their plan didn’t go as they had thought.”

“Jonathan got killed?”

Marcus sipped the wine and nodded. “Our job is not one you can retire from. Not easily, I mean. Jonathan succeeded in breaking his contracts, but his past came for him when he wasn’t paying enough attention. An assassin shot him in the back, at his own wedding. Someone said it was the fate, that we are forever cursed because of our life’s choice and every good thing get smashed in our hands, I say that someone didn’t want them to live happily forever after.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know. The assassin who had killed Jonathan was found murdered, so the secret went to the graveyard together with him. Nobody else knew anything of what happened, apparently. There was no contract on Jonathan, so I think that the killer maybe had a marker to close.”  
“The Owners usually took note of the markers.”

“True, but that particularly page in that specific book disappeared.” Marcus smiled. “Who had the power to do all of that? A powerful chief, a member of a High Table, another Owner. Why someone had to do all of that? Maybe for jealousy, Jonathan as I said had drawn a lot of attention to his pretty little face.”

John lowered his head, trying to collect his thoughts.

“Fun thing is that they achieved to get married, the killer shot his bullet just after they exchanged their wedding promises and the rings. Winston still wears his own, he kept considering himself married for quite a long time. Everybody thought he would have quit the job, instead he made a pretty good career and got a promotion. I think he stayed because he wanted to discover something about his lover’s death.”

“Did he manage to find the culprit?”

Marcus shook his head. “No, not really.”

John looked at him, annoyed and defeated. “Marcus, what the fuck this story had to do with me?”

Marcus laughed. “I could have chosen a different boy from the army, that day. Someone certainly more modest than you, but less problematic. No, I chose you because you were so alike Jonathan in both behavior and appearance.” He raised his glass, then he emptied it before ending his sentence. “I had plans, for you.”

John whistled, then smile. A smile without the littlest touch of joy. “You thought Winston would have decided to buy my services, because I look just like his once husband?”

“It sounds unfair, and quite mean, I already know that.” There was melancholy in his Patron’s eyes. “But Winston is my friend and you are my apprentice. I have never meant to hurt you. It could have been a decent deal for both of you: Winston would have had someone to warm up his bed and his heart, you would have offered a perfect career inside Continental.”

“You should have told me.”

“I know, just don’t blame me for that...”

“No, you don’t understand.” John interrupted him. “Do you think Viggo Tarasov knows this tale?”

Marcus seemed confused. “Viggo was nominated chief of the russian Bratva five years ago, when his father was murdered by his own brother and then Viggo revenged his memory by killing his uncle. The events of Winston and Jonathan happened six years ago.” A little pause. “Why?”

“Winston called me Jonathan, at the party.”

“Yeah, when we were talking after the auction, I remember.”

“No, that wasn’t the first time he called me by that name. I was offering him red wine, he looked at me and called me Jonathan. Viggo was there.”

“Oh.” Marcus thought about it for a few seconds, then he asked what John was waiting him to ask: “What did you reply back to him?”

“I was flirting. I told him I could be Jonathan, if the wanted.”

Marcus covered his face with a hand.

“And Viggo heard it?”

“Everything.”

  


John came back to his room thinking about what Marcus had told him in the library. He thought about Winston’s beautiful green eyes.

And then he thought about Viggo. It wasn’t clear what the man knew, but if John had understood something from what he had read about him it was that: he loved good information.

He rarely basked in the innocence of the ignorance.

For that, he had John’s admiration.

But that meant he most probably had understood Winston’s Freudian slip at the party.

The question was: did he choose John just for that? Did he see him as a valuable good to offer to Continental’s Owner in exchange for his favor, or did he see a weapon in him to use against Winston?

Maybe he saw just a bedroom toy, when he looked at him.

He sit heavily on his bed, it was time for dinner but he wasn’t hungry.

  


He woke up because someone was knocking at his door. He put on his bathrobe and opened the door.

“Sorry, I woke you up.” Winston apologized. He looked pretty disheveled.

John looked at the alarm clock on his night stand. It was two o’ clock.

“It’s quite late in the night. Or early in the morning, it depends on the point of the view.”

Winston ducked his head, scratching at his nape. “You asked me why I desire you. It’s a question that doesn’t let me sleep.”

John weighed the consequences for the time of a heartbeat, then he moved to invite him in.

“A glass of wine?” he offered.

Winston looked at him, then at the room. He smiled. “I would like something stronger, please.”

John closed the door and reached for the mini – bar. “Make yourself at home.”

While Winston was sitting on one of the two armchairs close to the bed, he took a bottle of bourbon and two glasses.

“It may sounds rude, but it’s night and I’m tired. Why are you here, Winston?”

The older man poured a generous quantity of liquor in his glass and replied: “I wanted to apologize for having spied on you.”

“So I was right.” John picked up the bottle and served himself some bourbon.

“And I was a liar.” Winston sipped at his glass. “You, on the other side, are so straight and honest on giving voice to what you think.”

“Marcus says it’s a flaw.”

“I find it an attractive feature.”

“So, have you got an answer to the question that leaves you sleepless?”

Winston downed all his drink in one gulp and fixed his attention to the empty glass in his lap.

He didn’t answer.

“Are you too afraid to even admit it?”

“Admit what?”

John was tired of playing. “That you see your Jonathan in me, and that’s why you can’t get me out of your mind.”

Winston seemed surprise, but only for a moment. “Marcus told you about him.”

“He wasn’t honest with his plans involving me. But he have never been able to hide something from me for a long period of time.”

Winston made a little, tired smile. “I know he was planning something special, the old bastard. I didn’t expect the surprise would have been a boy which is the copy of my once husband.”

“So that’s your answer: you want me because you want Jonathan.”

Winston blinked, once. He was trying to keep up his neutral poker face but it was easy to see that behind that mask he was torn.

“Maybe it’s not so easy. I don’t know, it’s not that simple to think when it’s that late in the night and you look like… everything.”

John took pity on him, and tried to joke. “Yes, what can I say? I always dress to impress.”

Winston laughed, softly. Then he refilled his glass and downed it again, like he needed help to ask his next question.

“Why did you say it?”

John was genuinely confused. “What?”

“At the party. You said that you could have been Jonathan, for me.”

“At the time I thought it was a simple mistake.”

“But why did you say it?”

John looked at him, straight into his gorgeous green eyes. “I was just flirting.”

Winston inhaled from the nose, loudly. “Because Marcus told you so?”

“Because I find you attractive.”

Winston’s reaction was the same of a deer caught in headlight. It would have been almost funny, if it hadn’t been so painfully true. For once, the carefully built mask was going down. 

John was flattered.

“You like me?”

“Maybe I shouldn’t.”

“But you like me, nonetheless.” A shy, little smile.  
“It doesn’t change anything. I am sold, now, so who I like or I don’t like doesn’t matter.”

Winston frowned, like he had forgotten that simple detail. “Viggo Tarasov.”

“Why didn’t you even try to make an offer for me?” John’s dark stare was accusatory.

The Owner lowered his eyes, a little blush on his cheeks. “He caught me by surprise. I was so shocked to see you at the party, like a memory from my past, and then I felt so worried about you during the Challenge… I didn’t have reflexes or time to react.”

“But you can make a move now. There are two days left.”

It was Winston’s turn to be confused. “Do you want me to make a deal with Viggo for you?”

“Is it so impossible? I guess you have more than twenty millions of dollars in your vault.”

“It’s not a money matter.” Winston dismissed the problem with a gesture of his hand.

“So? It is because of Viggo, right? The Tarasov’s Family, the Bratva behind them. You think Viggo wants me so much he will start a war, if you put yourself between him and his pray.”

John was carefully choosing his words, trying to look calm and reflexive, but his heartbeat had increased its pace.

“Viggo is very… He can be resolute.”

John bitterly laughed. “That’s a euphemism.” He abruptly stood up, walking towards the other man. “And you? You said you desire me.” He bent a kneel between Winston’s legs and he was delighted by a rough intake.

“You were honest, weren’t you? So, please, tell me” He took hold of his chin, forcing him to look upwards. “How much do you want me?” With a little gesture of the shoulder, John made the bathrobe slowly dropping down to expose his bare neck and most part of the naked chest. 

He bit at his own lip, watching at the other man’s pupils widen. “Would you start a feud with the russians? Would you sacrifice your men and your career? Would you defy Viggo, for me?”

Winston’s expression was inestimable: one of the most powerful men of all the city of New York was watching him with a desperate feeling into his eyes, a burning need.

But he was feeling hopeless, too. It was easy to see.

In that moment, John understood why Winston’s kind eyes made him feel more uncomfortable than Viggo’s demanding ones. Because Viggo was staring at his body, while Winston was penetrating directly into his soul. And he felt at a loss. Marcus had taught him to be pitiless, hard. It was something dangerous, for an assassin, to wear his heart on his sleeve, but John wasn’t made of stone. Not as much as he wanted other people to believe. He still had a heart, and it was a weakness.

He realized how much he was close to Winston’s face when their lips brushed against each other. He pulled back.

“No.” John said. “I know you couldn’t. I’m sorry I asked. I’m not worth a war, am I?”

He looked at Winston, who had unconsciously followed him to not lose the touch. He readjusted his robe and crossed his arms. “I think it’s better for you to go, now.”

John lowered his attention to the floor. Winston stood up and put his glass back on the small table, then he got closer like he wanted to touch him.

“Jonathan, I...”

John waited for something else to come. Winston whined and walked away.

  


The next day was free from noticeable events.

John spent most of the time in his room, he went out just to go to the gym.

In the afternoon he packed his suitcases. He thought about that a lot, then he chose to carry the two new suits, the gift from Winston, with him.

Just because they were two extraordinarily well tailored suits, he lied to himself.

It looked like they had been made just for him, and for him only.

  


The next morning was the last one. It was five o’ clock when someone knocked at his door, the sun hadn’t come up on the city and John was trying, unsuccessfully, to sleep.

He got up, naked as he were, and opened the door frowning.

Winston was caught in the middle of another tap.

He wore a white shirt and a blue suit. John wondered why he was always so classy, even at five in the morning. Maybe he slept in those fucking suits.

John was wearing nothing at all. Winston looked at him, thoroughly, slowly. John did nothing to cover his body up, he kept his eyes on the other man’s face reading his reactions.

“I couldn’t let you go away without… without saying you goodbye.” Winston said, hands behind his back and cheeks slightly flushed. “And since I can’t bear to see you go away with him I chose to part from you privately.”

John kept his mouth stubbornly shout.

“I want you to know that there’s nothing I want less in this life than seeing you in Viggo’s hands.” Winston revealed. “It’s a great blasphemy, for me, in a world of blasphemies. I would offer everything to have you by my side, you know, but...”

“I would never let you do it, anyway.” John interrupted him. “Make a move against him, for me.” he added. “He will never change his mind and things won’t be easy for you and me either.”

“Yes, but...” John got closer and cupped his face. Winston bit back a surprised cry.

“You know,” he said, his voice low and rough. “That is against the rules.”

“Good.” John replied, against his lips. “I have never loved following rules.”

They shared a long, pained kiss. Winston was the first to break it, he looked at John like he was physically hurt and he ran away.

John stayed at the door, looking at him until he disappeared in the early morning’s shadow.

He brushed his lips, lost in his thoughts, a shiver ran down his back.

Suddenly he moved. He walked past five doors, then he knocked at the sixth.

Cassian opened, looking a little drowsy, wearing just a pair of boxers.

If he was shocked to see him naked, at five o’ clock, outside his door, he didn’t show.

He just smirked.

“John, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

John arrived pretty directly at the conclusion: “I need a good, meaningless fuck. You in?”

Cassian’s smile faltered, then disappeared replaced by a gaze of pure and simple lust. He moved to the side to let John in.

“With great pleasure, sweetheart.”

  


John was taking a shower in his own room when someone knocked at the door. It was just seven o’clock, he wondered if Viggo was already at his doorstep.

Or maybe it was Winston, again.

When he opened, still dripping in his bathrobe, he met Charon’s calm gaze. He had a suit neatly folded in his arms.

“Good morning, Mr. Wick.” he greeted. “I’m sorry to bother you, but your Master Viggo Tarasov has already called. He will be here in an hour. He delivered us this suit, for you to wear when you’ll leave.”

Wick accepted the clothes and nodded. Once he was alone, he unfolded the suit: a woolen jacket and a pair of trousers made of the same material, a silk shirt with a glossy tie.

Everything was black. Maybe Viggo appreciated a monochromatic look.

John approved the choice.

Half an hour later he was dressed up and ready to leave. He left the keys of the room at the reception and he sit in one of the armchairs of the hall, his suitcase next to him.

Marcus joined him a few seconds later.

“So, today’s the big day.” he said.

“In less than an hour you’ll be free from every debt. How does it feel?” John asked.

Marcus glanced at him. “I’m not as happy as I thought I would have been.”

“You don’t have to be worried about me. I can handle myself.”

Marcus heavily breathed. “I’ll miss you.”

“You speak like we’re not going to see each other ever again.”

“I’ll miss being your Patron.”

The older man’s eyes were glistening. John hadn’t the heart to stand it, so he looked away.

“Is that new?” Marcus’ hands were on his jacket, admiring it.

“Yes. A gift.”

“It looks expensive.”

“It seems men love to buy me clothes.”

Marcus quietly chuckled. “Black is definitely your color. You are astounding today.”

“Hope that Viggo will be as satisfied as you to see me.”

In the meantime, Cassian reached the reception to leave his keys. D’Antonio’s family must have been as anxious as the Tarasov to put their hands on their new acquisition.

Cassian smiled mischievously while he was walking past him. John ignored him.

A few minutes later a long, dark sedan parked in front of the hotel. A man in his thirties, dressed in a gray suit which left his tattooed hands and neck exposed, got down and kept the car door opened for the other passenger to exit.

Viggo was… the only word that came in John’s mind was powerful. Prideful and beautiful, he walked into the hotel with his chin lifted up and his incredibly fair eyes who seemed to have control on everything they see. His self – esteem irradiated from him like sunbeams.

Only darker.

When his eyes met John’s, he smiled. Wickedly.

“Marcus.” he greeted, once he was near enough.

“Viggo.” They shook hands, coldly, briefly. Viggo’s hands were full of tattoos, each finger had a story written on it.

“Nice to see you, John. Did you enjoy your week at the Continental?”

John nodded. “Pleasant enough, thank you.”

Another little smile. “Good. I’d like to thank the Owner personally but” he made a show of looking around. “I don’t see him anywhere now. Well, then,” he brought his attention back to Marcus. “there’s no reason to waste more time. Georgi, pozhaluysta.” _Please._

The man dressed in gray handed out a case to Viggo, keeping his eyes respectfully downwards.

“Here, my friend. An honest payment for a good professional.”

“Thank you.” Marcus replied.

“No, thank you.” Viggo’s eyes were openly on John. “It is not common to have such a possibility to own a jewel like that. But I have always trust in your talent to find out pearls among the pigs.”

He turned towards the door. “Shall we?”

John walked out, feeling Viggo’s hand on the small of his back carrying him to the car. The driver was waiting for them, he took John’s suitcase and put it in the boot then he took his place behind the steering wheel. Georgi sit in the passenger seat, while Viggo opened the door to let John inside.

John had only the time to take a glimpse of the hotel, before the car entered in the morning traffic and drove away. He had the impression to see, or maybe he wanted to see, a man with incredibly green eyes behind one of the windows, saying goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos and the comments! Your love to my little fic is awesome to me.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everybody! I'm finally here with a new chapter. It's kind of a transition chapter, a little boring but necessary part of my fanfiction. I've added some juicy details as well, so I hope you won't be disappointed!  
> Have a good reading!

A dark, velvet panel raised to divide the back seats from the front seats.

“So,” Viggo began, turning towards John. “You received my humble gift.”

Something made John think he perfectly knew his gift wasn’t humble. It was a bold, arrogant, woolen waste of money.

“Yes, sir.” John answered.

“You look good in it. Do you actually like it?”

Viggo's scent was icy, a mash-up of pine and wood and snow. He smelled like a siberian forest, in the middle of the winter. 

John dared to look him in the eyes and corrected himself: a stormy winter.

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re a man of few words, hmm? Or maybe you are just a little...” Viggo caressed him on the cheek with just a finger. His hand was incredibly warm. “shy?”

“I’m a little confused.”

Viggo seemed surprised. “Why?”

“I spent a whole week wondering why someone who could own every assassin in the city if he wanted decided to do such an investment on me.”

Something flickered in Viggo’s eyes, too quick to be noticeable.

“Do you question the money I invested in you?" 

“Someone said it was the higher offer in years.”

Viggo absentmindedly brushed his beard. 

“Is yours a performance anxiety, maybe?”

“Maybe.”

“Well, _maybe_ you should relax and just be yourself. I paid for that straightforward, bloodthirsty guy who served me red wine, talked russian to me and then beat the fuck out of all the apprentices. Or was it a scene?”

“No, sir.”

Viggo smiled, his fingers playing with John's hair. "See? Nothing to worry about." 

John wasn’t that sure. “With all due respect, sir, I don’t think you pay so much to set me free.”

Something changed in Viggo’s face. His expression darkened a little. “I don’t see your point.”

“I believed you expected me to follow orders, as Marcus taught me.”

The grip in John’s hair hardened. John softly yelped, taken aback, feeling his heartbeat increasing. Viggo whispered right in his ear: “Oh, you will follow orders, trust me. But I saw in your eyes so much more than another good mercenary. Like a spark.” He raised his eyebrow. “While you were wasting your time wondering if you were worthy enough for my money, I was thinking about you. Dreaming. I dreamed of you every night of the past week. Do you know what you were in my dreams?”

John didn't reply, trying to keep his breathing calm and even and ignore his little, unwanted arousal. Viggo followed his jawline with his free hand.

“Ogon'.” _Fire._ “Veter.” _Wind._ “Wild and unstoppable and terrifying. I can’t describe how much it was exciting.”

He parted, leaving him free to regain his breath, returning to his side of the car seat.

“I don’t desire another assassin, John. I have a lot of them, with their empty heads disguised behind a poker face and a gun. They kill, they follow orders. I want something more. I need something more, from you.”

He turned to watch outside the window, allowing himself a little pause. John thanked God for that, because he was deliberately avoiding eye contact with him. 

Then: “They talked about me, I guess. What did they say?”

“They told me to be careful.”

Viggo laughed, bitterly. “I see. They saw you as an innocent, pretty face. And what do you think? Do you want to be careful?” He turned towards him. 

“Maybe I should.”

The older man cupped his face, forcing the boy to look him in the eyes. “No, dear. With eyes like yours, being careful is an impossible task.”

John looked at him through his half close eyes. “What about me, sir? What did they say about me?”

Viggo swallowed, his adam apple bobbed a little. “They said I was crazy for spending so much money on an apprentice.”

It was John’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “And you, sir? What do you think of me?

Viggo got closer, so closer John could feel his breath at a few centimeters from his own when his lips parted. His pupils were so wide they almost covered the light blue of the iris.

“I think that, maybe, I should be the careful one. Actually, you’re far from being innocent, you’re quite a hot mess.” 

John’s pupils widened, while Viggo bent towards him and purposely missed his lips to kiss him on the cheek.

The car stopped.

"We're home." Viggo declared, letting go of John, with a quite satisfied smile. They were in front of a big, tall skyscraper. John realized, with a little shock, that he would have called that place his own home for a long time. Years.

"This palace contains my headquarters. I have some errands to run, now, but Ivan will take care of you." Viggo said, in the same moment a man dressed in a similar gray suit the other henchman, Georgi, was wearing, came out of the building. John guessed he was Ivan. "He will explain you everything and show you everything. He's going to be your mentor, for the next months, even though I suppose you're not going to need his assistance for such a long time." 

Viggo perched over John and opened his door. “I’ll make sure your suitcase arrives at your new accommodation. Enjoy your stay, my little gem.”

John bowed his head and got out of the car. As soon as he shut the door, the driver turned on the engine and the long dark car was soon out of sight in the New York’s traffic.

"Welcome, John Wick." The man, Ivan, said, stretching out his hand to shake his. "Come, we have a lot to talk about." 

John followed him inside the building, inside the Bratva’s heart. The ground floor was like a huge reception, with two desks where two women dressed in blue uniforms were keeping their attention to huge computer screens while quickly typing on keyboards. One of them coyly smiled at John when he walked by. "Mr. Wick. Nice to meet you." she greeted, in english with a heavy russian accent. The plate on her chest said that she was Emma. She handed him a folder. "Here you can find a map of the building, the keys of your new apartment, a cell phone which is the only one you can use, the key of the underground garage and of your new, personal car. If you needed something else, at whatever hour, you could ask me, Emma, or the colleague of the night shift, Katrina." 

John took the folder. “Thank you, Emma.”

She smiled at him, then she shifted all her attention back to her computer.

Ivan took him to the lift, which he opened with his fingerprints. Once in, he explained: “This building has 25 floors, plus the underground. From the first floor to the tenth there is the work area, with offices and meeting rooms and boring stuff like that. From the tenth floor to the 25 th you will find all of the apartments where the people who work for mr. Tarasov live, from the assassins to the secretaries to the maids. Obviously, there are different floors for different employees: the assassins’ floor is the 24 th , right under Viggo’s attic. His family didn’t approve his choice to keep us so near, when he organized the space during our last move, but I think we make him feel safe.”

Ivan was a very good looking man, in his thirties, with a lean but muscular body and salt and pepper hair. His eyes were black as the night, his skin as fair as the snow which created a brilliant contrast with the black ink of his tattoos. Really, every Bratva's man had tattoos. 

“In the underground there are the laundries, a kitchen and other facilities, the garages and the armory. Like at the Continental, at every hour you'll find someone who can help you with your choice of weapons." Ivan continued, with his quiet and deep tone. In the meantime, the lift stopped and the door opened. They walked out in a long hallway with doors on each side. "Now we're going to create a file on you. The Continental has its own archive, but they rarely feel like sharing so we created our own." 

They entered a room where they took John's fingerprints, along with a photo and other general information about him. 

Once the employee was satisfied, Ivan led John out of the room and again into the lift. 

“Now you have access to the lift system, as well as other building’s services, just with your fingerprints. It is easier like that.”

“Easier to trace us, too.”

Unexpectedly, Ivan smiled.

“Viggo warned me about how you easily speak your heart. He finds it a pleasant habit.” Ivan looked at John. “But I think that keeping our mind to ourselves is the best way to stay alive.”

John stared back at him, without replying.

“To be honest, dear, I don’t know why Viggo decided, out of the blue, to spend so much for an apprentice. An apprentice who isn’t even russian. I’ve been working for the Bratva for years, this is the first time I hear of such a high offer, for an american boy. Viggo usually employs only russian people, he likes to continue his father’s tradition.” He studied John with a curious light in his deep eyes. “For some reasons, he did an amazing exception for you. With an extraordinary ease.”

“Maybe that’s more to me than what meets the eye.”

“I assure you, son, that what I see could already be enough.”

Ivan smirked, then the lift stopped at another floor. Here Ivan talked briefly about the businesses Bratva run and provided John with tons of technical data about the organization. John thanked his good memory. 

Ivan also introduced him to all his colleagues: apparently, the assassins were divided into small groups that were dedicated to different shifts or tasks and every group had a chief to control the activity. John’s group was composed of four other people, three men and a woman, and the chief was, of course, Ivan.

“This week we have the day shift to the meeting rooms. There’s a meeting organized with the Jacuza’s chief, to discuss over the last months’ unpleasant visits our storehouse received from his men. They are our direct competitor in import-export, as I told you. There's going to be much tension. We need to keep both eyes wide open." 

Ivan showed him the garage, his new car was a nice black Audi A3, and the armory, which wasn't just a room but like four or five rooms put together to create a space that stocked a most impressive variety of weapons. The sommelier in charge, like they would have called it at the Continental, was a tall woman with a military cut and feline gray eyes. John liked her, she seemed to have a strong personality along with an incredible knowledge of weapons. Ivan introduced her as “the Tiger”.

24 th ground.

“Here we are,” Ivan said, in front of a door. “Apartment 22.”

John searched the folder and found the keys. He opened the door and the first thing he saw was his suitcase in the middle of a nice looking bedroom. 

“On this ground you can also find a gym and an infirmary, open 24h of course.” Ivan clapped his hands twice, then he shoved them inside his pockets. “Now, let’s talk about personal stuff. While you’re at mr. Tarasov’s service you can’t own anything outside this building. This is your new house, here you’ll get everything you need and, if you are good enough, you’ll get even more. We ask you to be discreet, you’re not allowed to say a word of what you see or what you know. In your case, there’s…” Ivan seemed kind of… embarrassed? “There’s another clause mr. Tarasov asked to add at your contract. See, we’re not allowed to have relationships outside the Bratva, I mean romantic relationships, but we can sleep with whoever we want inside the organization. For you, mr. Tarasov requested the… well, the chastity.”

John blinked. “The… what?”

Ivan threw a hand through his hair, then he repeated: “He asked you to be sexually loyal to him and him only.”

John straightened his back, a little. “Oh.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry son.”

  


When Ivan left him alone in his new apartment, dismissed from any activity of the day because it was already evening and his shift had just finished, John opened his suitcase and put all his clothes in the already full wardrobe. Viggo had thought of everything, apparently: a small living room with a modern television in the middle of it, a bedroom with a classic double bed and a wardrobe with suits and shirts and ties and shoes for every occasion, a nice terrace with a view to a beautiful garden with flowers and a pool.

He even thought about his sexual life. Who could ask for more?

He would have lied if he had said that he didn't expect such a move from Viggo. The man had quite the fame of the obsessive maniac of the control. Still, from a simple deduction to the real thing there was a lot of difference. John had always been kind of addicted to sex. He had always appreciated the comfort of a hot body pressed against his during the night, even though he had never had a loving relationship in its pure term. He accepted his new life, he respected its rules and he appreciated the risk it demanded from him.

He was fine about having to fulfill every Viggo’s wicked desire.

A close contract like the one the older man proposed, however, would have been hard to stick on.

But John had no choice, he realized.

As long as he was at the Bratva’s service, he would have to cope with that situation.

He took a look at his watch: it was almost 8 p.m., he was hungry and it was useless to keep thinking of his future bond.

Ivan had told him there was a dining hall on the 12 th floor. He decided to try it.

  


The dining hall was a long room with tables here and there. John took a look around at the people who were eating dinner: secretaries, maids, accountants, assassins, they were all consuming their meal elbow to elbow like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like it wasn’t strange that the person who sit down next to you with a lasagna on the tray had a bullet in the shoulder and a bleeding, deep cut on the head.

John liked it from the first instant.

“John!” Ivan raised an arm to attract his attention among all the other people. “Idi syuda. Sidet' s nami.” Come here. Sit with us.

John thanked God that his elementary russian was enough to understand what his new comrades would say. Something told him that they would have never truly accepted him if he hadn’t been able to speak a little of their mother tongue.

Some people turned their head when he walked by, just to resume a not too much discreet chatting about him once he was far enough to not hear, in their opinion. He tried to ignore them.

He sit down next to Ivan. At their same table there were three other people, two of them he had already known as part of his group: Anatolii, a rather small but really bulky man with white hair so white to look like moonbeams, and Kesare, a nice looking woman with big brown eyes and brown hair. The other person was the sommelier, no less than the Tiger herself, sit so close to the other woman one could have thought they were trying to meld together.

“Good evening, John.” she greeted. “How are you doing? Did Ivan show you everything of our little palace?”

“I’m still trying to acquaint myself.” he answered. A waitress, in a gray uniform, approached him and handed him a menu. He chose some pasta and a salad, she took note of that and walked away with his order.

"You should eat some meat, boy. Tomorrow is gonna be a hard day." Anatolii warned him, over his half-eaten steak. 

“Maybe he likes to feed himself over his enemies’ blood.” Kesare joked, causing the Tiger to chuckle softly. “He’s so pale and so dark at the same time, just like a vampire.”

“You sure have a good taste in goth.” John answered, slightly tilting his head.

“Oh, you have no idea, son.” Tiger held her by the waist and kissed her on the cheek. Kesare turned her head just in time to catch her lips in a quick, teasing kiss with the barest amount of tongue. 

“Oh, you’re girls are the worst.” Anatolii laughed at them.

“Maybe you should avoid such public displays of affection in front of...” Ivan pointed at John with his head.

“I’m not that innocent. Or homophobic.” John retorted, quite annoyed.

Tiger waved a hand. “It’s not that, cupcake, it’… well.” She addressed him a killer smile, all rough edges and teeth.

“What?”

Ivan circled his shoulders with an arm, bending just enough to speak softly at his ear. “You know, rumors started circulating before your arrival. About boss’ little request on you. Everyone here began to call you as the Monk.”

John looked around at the subtle gazes people directed at him. He swallowed, trying to push away the blush who was coming up to his cheeks, trying to keep some dignity.

“It’s not fair that...” he started.

“I know.” Ivan interrupted him, raising both his hands in a sign of defeat. “I’m sorry. We’re all sorry, and I swear I’m trying to prevent anyone to make much ado about nothing. Just try to understand: your situation is so damn straight unique, and we rarely see someone or something new around here, that is impossible not to… well, talk about it.” Ivan brushed his fingers through the short salt and pepper hair on his nape. His other hand was on John’s thigh. “Since it’s the only thing we can do, with you. Talking.” What was that little change in his voice? Regret, maybe?

Tiger gave him a long, meaningful look before shifting back her attention to John.

“You know, the boss requested everyone of us almost once. It’s like an affiliation ceremony.” She shrugged. “For him, it has never been much more than a way to claim his power on his employees. He has never had with his henchmen a relationship longer than a night.”

“Which is good.” Kesare added. “Personally, I didn’t find it so pleasurable.”

“Anyway.” Tiger continued, after sharing a quick glance with her. “It’s strange, all this thing he seems to have for you. If it wasn’t impossible, speaking of Viggo, I would say it is something close to… affection.”

John lowered his eyes to his own lap. Meanwhile, his food had been served. Sadly, he wasn’t angry anymore.

“Come on, dear.” Ivan said, with a sweet smile. “Life’s not that bad, here, you’ll see. Now eat, you’ll need energy tomorrow. We are going to have a hard shift.”

“It is tomorrow?” Anatolii asked.

“Yes, the meeting with Pak – Hong Ling is scheduled for tomorrow at 9 a.m. I want you all at six o’ clock at the gym for the training, seven o’clock to our enchanting sommelier and then a quick brainstorming before the meeting. At half past eight the boss wants all us ready in the building’s hall.”

Anatolii nodded. Kesare mimicked his gesture. “I’ll tell Anton about that.”

“Where is him?” Ivan looked around him, searching for the last member of his group. Anatolii laughed, softly. “Beatrisa came back from her mission in Germany, last night. I guess he’s busy.”

Ivan ducked his head, trying to hide his own smile.

Tiger stood up and Kesare promptly followed her. “Guys, as always it has been awfully good to have dinner with you. John,” She gave him a maternal pat on the cheek. “you’re a sweet cute angel baby.”

They walked away, holding hands. A few minutes later, it was Anatolii’s turn to wish everybody goodnight and disappear.

“I think I’ll hit the bed too, boy.” Ivan moved to stand, but John grabbed him by the wrist. The man looked at him with a pretty surprised expression on his face, but he sit down again.

“You’ve been with him, haven’t you?”

Ivan didn’t need to ask whom he was wondering about.

“Yes, I have.” he answered, with a very serious expression on his beautifully carved face.

“What is it like?” John wasn’t embarrassed at all, in his dark eyes there was such a cool quiet that Ivan, for a moment, envied.

“Well, you know” he answered, stroking his shoulder. “I hope you like rough manners.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it! Thanks for the comments and the kudos, they mean a lot to my little self.
> 
> In case you're wondering who's Ivan, it's that good looking piece of a russian man you can see in the first John Wick's movie during the assault at the Red Circle. He's the one blaming Iosef for his childish behavior, like: I'm here to protect a boy, not to babysit a drunkard. Iosef calls him brother, but I think he's more like a bro than a real brother because in the movie's plot Viggo has only one son, so I assume he's just an old henchman and that's who he is in my fic.
> 
> Kisses!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi beauties! I'm back with a new chapter, I hope you're all good and I hope you'll appreciate it!

Next morning John was ready, in front of the gym’s doors, at 5.50.

Ivan was the first to come. “Good morning.” he greeted him, with a gentle smile.

John greeted him back.

“You got up early, did you sleep well?” he asked, looking at his dark circles.

“I never sleep well when I move somewhere else. I’m not really good at feeling at ease in a new place.”

“Maybe you just need time to adjust, right?” Ivan patted him on the back. “Besides, in this life we chose, I think there will never be a place we will call home, you know what I mean? Home becomes a concept that you have inside you, and you can take it everywhere.”

John simply nodded and offered him a little smile. He liked Ivan, he was gentle and sensitive. It was hard to imagine how a man like him had ended up at the head of a group of assassins inside a criminal organization.

“Ivan, my zdes'” We’re here. Ivan turned to see Anatolii, Kesare and another man who must have been Anton running towards them, gym bags in hand.

“Eto bylo seychas!” It was about time.

“It is all Anton’s fault.” Anatolii said, panting, once he was near enough to be heard. “I spent fifteen minutes knocking at his door before he got up to open.”

Ivan frowned. “Anton, you know today is an important day.” he called him down. Anton, maybe the youngest of the company after John, was a charming young man with blond hair, huge hazel eyes and a strong jawline. He ducked his head, murmuring his apologies.

“By the way,” Ivan continued, with a lighter voice tone. “How is Beatrisa?”

Kesare poked at Anton with her elbow. He smiled brightly at all of them. “Very good, thank you, Ivan.”

“Alright, then, it’s time for you to meet someone new. Anton, this is John: our new colleague.”

Anton’s eyes studied John for a couple of seconds. “You’re not russian.”

John blinked. “No, I’m afraid I’m not.”

After two more heartbeats, Anton stretched out his hand to hold John’s.

“Nice to meet you.”

“What about starting our training? We’ve got to make up for the time we’ve lost.” Ivan opened the gym’s door and pushed them all in. The place was empty, maybe because of the very early hour.

He let them half an hour to warm up as they preferred. John switched on one of the treadmills and jogged for twenty minutes, then he made some free body exercises for the time that remained.

“Guys, here.” Ivan called them. “Now, John, we usually choose a partner to practice some bare hands’ fight. This morning I’d like to see you crossing your blades against Anatolii.”

“What?” The man protested. “I thought you would have paired him with Anton, which is younger and weaker.”

“Hey, I am still here.” Anton stated, crossing his arms over the chest.

“No offense, Anton, you know what I mean.”

Anton took a moment to think about it, then nodded. “Okay.”

“Are you contesting my choice, Anatolii?” Ivan took a step forward, while his eyes seemed to become darker. His contestant moved a step back. “No, Ivan.”

“You cannot contest my choice.” Ivan said, with emphasis.

“No, I can’t.” Anatolii acknowledged.

“Because I am...” Ivan waited for his answer.

He didn’t wait much. Anatolii reply was like an involuntary reflex, easy and sure as breathing.

“Because you are my commander.”

Ivan nodded, evidently satisfied. The tension in the air dissipated when he smiled, but the formal atmosphere that there had been just a few minutes before was gone. Everyone was now listening to him with great attention and seriousness.

“Well, Anatolii will fight against John and Kesare will fight against Anton.”

They set themselves one in front of the other, some meters of distance between them.

John thought that he had no idea at which game Ivan was playing.

But he had no other choice than play his part.

Anatolii lowered his head and attacked him, like a rhino. John moved to the side and let him pass by, then he hit him on the back. Anatolii whined in pain and growled. He turned to punch him in the face with his right hook, John slipped to the floor and kicked him in the ankles. Anatolii lost his balance and fell to the floor too. John climbed on him, pinning him down with his limbs, and hit him on the face. Once, twice. He purposely hit him only on the jaw, to avoid giving him a black eye to sport during work, because something told him that Ivan would have appreciated it. 

Anatolii tried to grab his hands, to stop him. He took hold of John’s wrist and twisted, hard enough to sprain, hard enough to light John’s anger. Anatolii was playing dirty, so he would have given him something equally naughty. He lifted his knees, then he crashed it against his opponent’s crotch.

Anatolii howled. John smiled, a cold fury exploding in his eyes.

“Enough.” Ivan said. John left Anatolii immediately, standing up and crossing his arms over the chest in a sign of ease.

Ivan approached the guy, still on the floor, and smiled at him. “May you need my assistance, sleeping beauty?” he joked. On the corner, Anton was holding his shoulder in pain while Kesare dried her sweat with a little towel.

Anatolii cursed then he got up by himself. “Anton, Anatolii, go to the infirmary. I need you ready in an hour.”

The guys got out, Anatolii holding his crotch with both hands and looking at John like he was going to kill him with his bare hands.

John offered one of his most indifferent poker face to his anger.

“Kesare, you’ve done a good job. Go take a shower, then please pick up the new guns I’ve ordered to Tiger.” He smiled, holding her shoulder with a conspiratorial look. “I bet she will be happier to see you than me.”

Kesare nodded then she walked to the locker rooms.

“John, stand down.” Ivan said once they were alone. The boy balanced his weight on his feet and crossed his hands behind his back. “John.” He shook his head, smiling softly. “You embarrass me in front of my men. I mean, I believed I had chosen the best elements for my little squad, but then you come, an apprentice, and put KO in three moves one of them. How do you call that?”

John glanced at him, quickly, then continued to stubbornly look in front of him before answering: “I believe it was an evaluation mistake.”

Ivan raised an eyebrow. “Do you think I made an evaluation mistake?”

“Not yours,” John corrected. “Anatolii’s. He made a mistake in evaluating me as weaker than him, he fought against me without any class and without losing a single second to attentively think about who he was his enemy.”

Ivan laughed. “Oh, you’re a silver tongue, sweetheart.” He patted him on the shoulder, and suddenly John found himself folded in half, wincing in pain, his left arm bent to form a strange angle behind his back, “You will be happy to know that I didn’t do the same stupid mistake.”

Ivan pushed him down, John tried to free himself from his grip but when he found out he couldn’t succeed he kicked him on the leg. Ivan held him tighter, John felt a pang in his shoulder and growled. He kicked Ivan again, this time harder, aiming at his ankle. The hit reached his goal, Ivan cursed between clenched teeth but loosen his grasp just a little, enough for John to stand on his feet again and punch him on the cheek. Ivan couldn’t completely dodge the blow, but he ducked soon enough to avoid most of its energy and set himself to reciprocate the attention. John stopped his fist with the arm, then pushed him hard on the chest while trying to make him trip. Ivan lost his balance and fell to the floor with a loud sound of bones hitting the wood. John was on him before he could recollect himself, or that was what he thought. Actually, Ivan slapped him on the mouth and grabbed him on the waist and made him fly down next to him, then jumped up and put himself over the boy, holding both his wrists with one hand and grasping at his side with the free other. His knees were almost on John’s thighs.

They were panting, loudly.

John struggled a little, but he finally surrendered. He couldn’t see well because his hair was on his eyes, he moved them with a gesture of the head and tried to focus on Ivan. The man was looking at him with something in his eyes. Rage, maybe? Had he stepped over some boundaries? Should he had to surrender as soon as his Master had hit him? Ivan tilted his head to the side, then swallowed. No, it wasn’t rage that made his pupils grow wider or his breath shallow. Adrenaline?

Then he felt it. Ivan’s erection against his thigh. His own breath caught in his throat and his cock twitched in response.

Suddenly Ivan looked at him in panic, he quickly freed him by removing himself from his body and turned his back on him, hands on his sides, slightly trembling.

“We’ll see in the hall in an hour.” he said, then he walked towards the exit. John remained still, watching him disappearing, really confused.

He was still trying to make sense of what had happened when Kesare went out of the locker rooms and saw him, all confused looks and disheveled hair.

“What happened?” she asked.

“What?” He tried to fake ignorance.

“Your lip, you’re bleeding.”

He touched his lower lip and saw the blood on his fingers. Maybe that slap had been harder than he thought.

“Nothing, I’m okay. I’m going to take a shower.”

He walked past her to the locker rooms, quickly undressed and put himself under the spray of cold water.

  


When he arrived at the hall, John was tactically dressed up in a black suit, shaved, his hair was carefully combed and out of his face and, most important thing, he was cool and collected enough to start his first day of work.

Kesare, Ivan and Anton were already there. Ivan greeted him but avoided his eyes. John noticed he had a split eyebrow and felt weirdly glad at the thought that he wasn’t the only one carrying a sign of their fight.

Ivan gave an earpiece to every one of them, in order to be connected with Viggo and him in case something happened. He explained that, once in the meeting room, he and Anatolii would have been right behind Viggo’s chair, Kesare and Anton would have been next to the windows and John would have taken his place next to the door.

Anatolii was the last one to come. A vast area under his eye and on his jaw was becoming purple, a clear sign that, despite John’s efforts, he had left a mark on the man.

He barely glanced at John, but when he walked by he tensed up a little bit.

The elevator opened with a soft trill. Viggo got out of it, talking to the phone, dressed in a dark blue suit and cream white shirt. As the assassin’s etiquette required, his men welcomed him by kneeling down, keeping their eyes on the floor, posing every weapon they carried in front of them and, finally, crossing their arms in front of the chest.

They had to stay like that until the boss said a word to release them.

It was a way to show their loyalty and their submission.

Viggo kept talking to the phone, barely noticing them. He started walking slowly in front of them. All John could see from his position were his polished leather shoes.

They stopped in front of him, at the same time Viggo closed the call.

“Dobroye utro, parni.” Good morning guys. Ivan started getting up, so everyone else followed him picking up their weapons from the floor.

John found himself in front of Viggo, less than a meter between them. He noticed something he had never noticed before: the man was shorter than him, and yet he had always seen him as a tall man. It was his aura, maybe: it made him tower over every other human being in the room.

Viggo was looking at him, with a little smile on his face, almost as if he was basking in his view.

John saw his eyes stopping on his own split lip.

“Ivan,” he called, without taking off his glaze from the boy. “As I recall, you were the one tasked to dole out the beatings, and not to receive them.”

Ivan laughed, reaching absentmindedly to his wounded eyebrow. “Rusty, I guess.”

Viggo chuckled, then he shifted his attention to Anatolii. “You look worse than any other else.” He smirked. “I’m disappointed, son.”

Anatolii lowered his eyes, blushing.

“Do you think he could work today, Ivan?”

Viggo’s voice was like velvet, but his eyes and his words were stainless steel.

“Anatolii is ready, sir.”

“I’m impressed, Ivan.” His light blue eyes glared at the henchman. “How could you let your men have such a hard training in such an important day?

“Someone could say that I made an evaluation mistake.”

Viggo raised an eyebrow. He was saying something else when John interrupted him. “It was my fault.”

Viggo turned to look at him and it was at that moment that John understood: the man already knew it, he just wanted him to say out loud.

“Your fault, dear? Oh God, it’s your first day at work and you already caused me some problems.” He smiled, a cruel kind of smile. “You are a very bad boy.” Then he said, to Ivan: “I want him by my side, today. I’m sure Anatolii will do a quite good job watching the door.”

John heard Anatolii’s outraged reaction of surprise in his sharp intake of a breath, but kept looking at Viggo right in the eyes: he was attracted by his dilated pupils. He couldn’t shift his attention anywhere else, it was like Viggo was hypnotizing him.

“Sir?”

How much time had they stayed like that, before Ivan’s voice called them back to the reality?

“Mr. Watanabe has just arrived.” He was saying, a finger on his headphone.

Viggo blinked, then swallowed slowly. “Very well. Let’s go then.”

They walked to the lift in silence, like a united team. Anatolii elbowed hardly John on his way to the meeting room, he glazed at the russian man with eyes like fire but he pretended not to care about it.

“Jiang!” Viggo exclaimed, once inside. The meeting room was a long space with a big table and chairs all around it, a huge tv screen hung on the wall and wide windows that let the morning light in.

On a side of the table there was a man, well dressed and with a neat haircut, surrounded by four standing henchmen. Jiang Watanabe stood to shake the hand Viggo was offering him.

“Good to see you, my friend.” If John had had to compare the japanese man to an animal, he would have chosen the snake. He was lean, tall and with a devious spark in his eyes.

“Good to see you too.” They smiled at each other, a really fake smile, then they parted and Viggo took place on the other side of the table, John and Ivan by his side as he had ordered, their arms crossed on the chest and eyes on the floor.

Viggo’s perfume was as masculine and sensual as John remembered.

“To what do I own the pleasure of your kind invitation, Viggo?”

“I think you can easily imagine it.” Viggo’s voice was cold and silky, like the blade of a just sharpened knife. “Your men have done several attacks for weeks to my crew at the docks: you’re interfering with my businesses on purpose, I need an explanation.”

Jiang shifted in his chair. “I’m just considering my own profit, old friend. You know you are my first competitor on the import, your goods are as valuable as mine so I need to do everything I can to protect my business. Besides, your men killed dozens of my men during the attacks.”

“What did you expect? They were doing their job, what they are paid for.” Viggo sounded angry. “What you’re doing is not right. The High Table has laws, laws that we all signed, and they speak against your behavior.”

“Indeed.” Jiang smiled. “You know, this is not about our pretty little group, about our past agreements or mutual laws. This is about business. High Table doesn’t help me rule my business, doesn’t help my employee’s families when they don’t earn enough to buy food.”

Viggo smirked. “Yeah, I figured it must be pretty hard for them. For you, on the other side, life’s so much easier despite the stock market’s tendency: you wear a quite expensive jacket, and you live in a quite expensive house.”

Jiang smile faltered a little, only to return to its fullest a few seconds later. “Just like yours, Viggo. You're rich, and the Bratva is incredibly rich. Why can’t we share this wealth? There is space for both of us, in the import-export section.”

Viggo connected his hands in front of his face like he was thinking about the offer Watanabe had just made.

“You know, you should have come here with your good intention before killing my men.” He said, in a low and thoughtful voice.

“They were just a bunch of henchmen.” The japanese replied, with a gesture of his hand. “No one of them was irreplaceable, I guess.”

John straightened his back, tightening his fists without thinking.

“What you have done,” Viggo kept talking like Jiang had said nothing at all, but the way his jaw was working gave himself away. “is unforgivable. If I took you to the High Table’s council, they would ask your abdication.”

Watanabe’s facade fell and his eyes sparkled in anger. “Fuck the High Table.” He hissed. “Fuck you and your rules.”

Then, he seemed to collect himself. He brushed his hands over his jacket. “Names are really important in Japan, you know. Your family chooses them to give what it is considered the best quality, for you.” He kept playing with his jacket. “My name means to cross boundaries, and it’s what I want to do.”

Suddenly, he took a knife off his pocket and threw it to Viggo’s direction. John saw it, he turned towards Ivan and saw him leaning forward, but he decided to be faster.

John jumped on the table, in front of Viggo’s face, and caught the weapon just a few centimeters away from his boss’ heart. The blade cut his hand, but he didn’t care. On one knee, he threw it back to one of the Watanabe’s men who was fighting against Kesare, then he took out his gun and shot right in the head of another man who was running towards him.

Ivan took down the third one, while the last henchman jumped on the same table John was and aimed at his head.

John mimicked his move, still half knelt down.

“Come on.” he was playing with him, but there was confidence hard as steel in his black eyes.

The man looked at him, then at this boss at the corner of his eye, then John again. He was young, maybe just one or two years older than John, and his grip was slightly shaking around his gun.

“Do you wanna shot me?” John asked, his hand still despite the blood that dripped from it.

Silence. Everything John heard for the next heartbeats was Ivan heavy breath and Viggos’ perfume.

His enemy’s weapon was staring at him. Maybe he would have died on his first day on the field.

The last man standing who died for first. What a tale to tell.

“Enough.” Watanabe said, from his chair, Anton and Anatolii was pinning him down. “Stop that.”

The henchman lowered his gun and John breathed again.

All the adrenaline that was pumping in his blood covered the sting of pain from his hand, but his wound needed a cure.

“You made a really shit move, Watanabe.” Viggo said, anger boiling under his words. “Take them away.”

Anton, Anatolii and Kesare led the two men outside the room. Ivan run to help John, who was trying to come down from the table.

“Are you okay?” His dark eyes were searching John for any sign of other wounds, but John attention was far over him. Viggo who was looking at him with the same kind of awe he had reserved the boy on their first encounter after he had won that fight against the other apprentices.

His ice blue eyes were wide open, dilated pupils, parted lips.

The man seemed lost among surprise, amazement, emotion. Oh, and lust.

So much lust.

Despite everything, that view made John’s cock twitch.

“Ivan, please, take him to the doctor.” He said, in a deep voice. The man nodded. “When you’re done with John, I want to see you in my apartment. Please.”

John leaned into Ivan’s strong arms and walked towards the exit, his heart still hammering in his chest for the excitement of the fight.

Or, that’s what he told himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for your comments and your kudos! It's so awesome to feel all this love from you readers, so important for an author! so hugs and kisses


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I am, back with a new chapter! I'm sorry for the long wait, really really sorry! But I had a very busy time at work and a hard time at home, so I was too tired or too sad to write.  
> But here there is a new chapter, nonetheless! I hope you'll like it.  
> I strongly recommend you to notice that the rating changed to EXPLICIT, due to the dirty talk and porn in this little dirty chapter, and to read all the tags in the description.  
> This story is also about rough sex. Really rough. This may touch someone's sensitivity.  
> Hugs to everyone!

John's hand needed a few stitches. When the doctor asked him if he wanted a painkiller, he answered that, actually, he would have liked a glass of bourbon. 

Ivan, standing next the examination table, laughed covering his mouth with a hand.

“You did an amazing job, John.” he said, once the doctor had left the room.

“I just did my job.” John admitted, a little tired after all the adrenaline had flowed out of his blood.

"I think you did more. In fact, in just a day on the field you proved me that you are worthy of your price." 

He patted him on the shoulder, then checked his watch. “I have to go now, if you want you can rest for the day. I’ll find someone else to replace you.”

John shook his head. “I’ll be ready again in ten minutes.”

“You sure?” Ivan raised an eyebrow, a little surprise on his lineaments.

“Yeah.”

“Good. You can join the others as soon as you’re ready. I have to go upstairs to talk with Viggo, but I guess I’ll be back in time for the next reunion.”

Ivan smiled and walked out of the room. John sighed, then laid down on the gurney. He shaded his eyes from the sunlight that came in from the window and closed them. Images of what had happened crossed his mind, mixed with the sting of pain from the wound on his hand: the knife thrown at Viggo’s heart, the look on Watanabe’s henchman’s face, his gun pointed to John’s chest. His heartbeat increased a little.

The look on Viggo’s face had been priceless. Those feline, predatory blue eyes wide open and full of mounting desire, because that’s what they had communicated: desire and little else. His cock was half hard at the thought.

Marcus had told him a lot of things about Viggo Tarasov. Stories about his tastes in bed. Legends about how he loved to rudely fuck his employees. Viggo was in his mid-thirties only but he was known to be, actually, a true expert in bondage and rough hardcore sex. He had grown a reputation for being nothing more than a sadistic, ruthless, merciless alpha man in bed. He liked it hard, Marcus had told him, and his face had shown John how much he despised those habits. An animal, he had called him, both in the streets and in the sheets.

John remembered to have jerked himself off as soon as Marcus had left him alone, that day.

Because yeah, if Viggo was such a monster, John was what can be defined a happy rebel.

He whined, wondering if he could have another glass of bourbon to drink.

  


Their shift ended at 6.00 p.m. and they didn't see Viggo anymore. Ivan told them that, since he had to take care of Watanabe and deal with what had happened with the High Table, he would have been replaced in all his scheduled meetings by one of his assistants, a surprisingly boring American man which nickname was Avi. 

They were taking care of their weapons in the armory, before parting ways, when Kesare proposed: “Hey everyone, would you like to go eating somewhere fancier than the canteen tonight? Tiger discovered a new pretty restaurant, not so far from here, that promises to offer the best sushi and the toughest cocktails in the block. Are you in?”

She wiggled her eyebrows, in what in her intentions should have been a suggestive way, making Anton laugh.

“Alright, after the day we had I think we deserve to eat properly and drink our ass off. I’ll come with Beatrisa, if you don’t mind.”

Anatolii rolled his eyes. “As long as you two don’t make out next to myself, I’m in.”

Anton poked him on the rib, still laughing.

“What about you, John? Are you coming with us?”

John was about to refuse, but then he thought about his other options to spend the evening: chilling in his home, watching tv and pining over Viggo and his own sexless life or training in the gym until he would have collapsed exhausted to the floor trying to forget about his sexless life. And then sleep. Maybe.

A little alcohol could have helped him more than an hour on the treadmill. “Okay, I really crave a glass of bourbon.” 

“Boy likes to drink like a man.” Anatolii noted.

“I think he proved to be more of a man than you are, today, jerk." Kesare scolded him. Finally she turned to Ivan, who was checking on his weapons in a corner. "What about you, chief? Would you like some bubbling champagne, tonight? Or maybe a strong Italian red wine?" 

He smiled a little. “I’m sorry, Kesare, it sounds like an awesome proposal to me but I already have a plan for tonight.”

Anton raised an eyebrow. “Like what? Please don’t tell me you’re gonna training some more to the gym.”

Ivan shook his head, apparently entirely focusing on cleaning and assembling his guns. “No, actually is a, well,” He glanced quickly towards John, then:”it’s a booty call.”

Tiger grinned, while encircling Kesare’s shoulders with an arm. “My God, who’s the lucky one?”

Ivan grimaced. “It’s The booty call, Tiger.”

The smile slowly faded away from everyone’s face. The silence went on for some seconds, then Anton broke it. “That booty call? Boss booty call?”

Ivan nodded.

John looked at them, without understanding to the fullest what was happening. “What does it mean?”

Then Ivan looked directly at him, for just a second, but what the boy read in his eyes left a scratch on his own soul. 

Resignation. Sadness.

The look of a prey who knew that couldn’t run away from his predator.

Ivan turned his back to them, pretending to put the rifles in order, when he answered: “It means that Viggo called for me, to ask for my company tonight. It means,” he stopped, to sighed. “That he’s gonna have me, like he had me before anyway.”

“You’re gonna have a tough night.” Anatolii stated. “Maybe a glass of wine could help you, couldn’t it?”

Ivan smiled, weakly. “He’s waiting me for dinner, so I can’t join you guys. But thanks for asking, An.”

Tiger patted on Ivan’s shoulder. “Good luck, dear.”

John felt his mouth running dry, he suddenly felt the need to find something to do other than standing with his arms on his sides and his eyes on Ivan.

He turned his attention to his weapons, he started sharpening the blade of a knife.

He had the weird feeling, in that moment, that everyone’s in the room was looking at him.

  


The restaurant was a five minutes walk from the Bratva’s building. It was a fancy place, with little tables and dim lights. John could recognize some familiar faces Soon as they were all sit down, Tiger ask the waitress for a drink. Once they all had a Martini in hand, she smiled and raised her glass. “Cheers.”

John sipped his own drink slowly, while reading the menu. He couldn’t quite explain why, but he felt the need to rebel against Viggo so, as a first act of rebellion, he had decided to wear one of the suits Winston had donated him. It was the same suit he had wore when he had been invited to eat breakfast on the roof, the deep blue velvet made him look quite shiny.

“So, Beatrisa, how was Germany?” Anatolii asked. Beatrisa, Anton’s girlfriend, was a tall woman with curly blond hair cut in a classy bob and big pale green eyes. She was kind of cute.

“Oh, Berlin is always so fascinating.” She told them about her little trips around the city during her spare time, her eyes were sparkling with enthusiasm.

“You are so lucky.” Tiger affirmed, when the other girl ended her report. “You are dispatched in every part of the worlds, you see a lot of beautiful things, while I’m always stuck in a dark basement among the weapons.”

“Yeah, we would be very like,” Anatolii affirmed, with a smirk. “If it wasn’t for the omnipresent risk of being killed.”

Tiger waved at him with her hand. “You are always such a spoilsport.”

“Besides, we all love some action, don’t we?” Kesare winked. “I mean, a fight like the one John has put in place today can’t be seen everyday in a classical office.”

Beatrisa turned towards John, curiosity painted over her features. “Anton told me what you did today, you’ve risked your own life for all the squad on your very first day on the field. That’s really impressive.”

“I’ve got to admit it, when I heard that Viggo had invested so much money on an apprentice I thought: that’s crazy! But since I laid my eyes on you, you made me wanting to lay something else entirely in front of you.” Tiger said.

“Tiger, please!” Anton complained, laughing. “Don’t be your usual self.”

“Oh, come on! Don’t tell me that you’re not eating yourself out thinking about how untouchable he is.”

Kesare nodded, apparently at ease with her girlfriend’s enthusiasm.

“I’m not losing my sleep on that.” Anatolii admitted.

"That's because you are a self-restricted heterosexual. You really don't know what you're missing, my dear friend." Anton answered back, making Beatrisa laugh. 

“That’s because I don’t see what’s so special with him.”

John found all that situation weird. They kept talking like he wasn’t there, sit on the same table.

“Yeah, nothing special other than having kicked your butt in the gym today.” Kesare replied, with a sassy smile on her lips.

Anatolii brushed a hand through his hair, chugged down his drink and stopped the waitress to ask for a beer.

Beatrisa seemed to notice John’s discomfort, because she tried to take him out of it by saying: “John, what do you think of your squad? I bet you didn’t expect to meet such childish assassins inside the Bratva.”

John ducked his head. “Actually, I didn’t know what to expect from my new workplace at all.”

The dinner arrived in that moment. Several dishes were served in front of them, and the waitresses who carried them made a little bow before disappearing quickly into the kitchen.

Everyone ate with great appetite, forgetting about John and his unfortunate condition of new boy in the flock.

An hour and many courses later, they all declared themselves satisfied. They were all a little bit drunk, too, because they had washed sushi down with several bottles of good wine.

“Saké?” One of the waitress asked.

“Yeah, saké baby. Bring me all the saké that you’ve got.” Tiger answered, laughing, with bright eyes.

John envied her joy. He had drunk enough to be lightheaded, but definitely not enough to be that happy.

Actually, he had never been that kind of a happy person.

A though keep coming back to his mind, an image, a split second in his memory: Viggo's eyes when he turned towards him, after the shootout in the meeting room. 

God, those eyes. Those incredible clear eyes.

“I wonder what Viggo is planning to do to Watanabe.” Kesare asked, just out of the blue, sipping her saké.

“I asked Ivan, this afternoon.” Anton informed. “Apparently, Viggo reported everything to the High Table the next hour the “accident” happened and he demanded a meeting. I think they are going to organize it very soon, they are all upset that something like this really happened.”

“I bet the punishment will be something extraordinary, a warning to everyone else who is thinking about defying a Chief of a Family in the High Table.” Beatrisa mumbled, absently drawing circles with her finger on the tablecloth.

Anton caressed her on the back and nodded. “Yeah, because right now every Chief feels a little less safe in his own house.” Then, after a brief instant of silence, he added: “Ivan told me that he had never experienced such an anger coming from Viggo.”

“Yeah, no wonder.” Anatolii grinned. “I think he would have given everything to swap place with someone else, tonight.”

A longer silence followed his sentence. John, who had been listening with his eyes carefully planted on his cup, glanced over the table to discover that everyone was looking at him.

He didn’t need to ask them the reason.

Not that he wanted to ask either.

It was something that had been plaguing him for all the afternoon, since he had acknowledged that Viggo had asked specifically Ivan’s company for the night. That news had awakened a complicated combination of emotions, that were fighting for his attention in his chest. Surprise, first, then confusion and disappointment and, finally, a touch of… jealousy?

Maybe it was all because, after all he had heard from the most different people about Viggo, he would have expected a more passionate welcome. He had thought that Viggo would have asked for him.

He felt neglected.

It was a stupid feeling, but real nonetheless.

“Ivan is gonna suffer the consequences of today’s events, don’t you think?” Kesare voice came out a little bit slurred, but everyone understood her point. Even Tiger seemed to sober a little. “Kesare, you know...” she tried to say.

“Kesare, darling,” Anton put his hand over hers. “You know it’s better not to talk too much about boss’ exploits.”

John wondered why Anton sounded almost reverential to his ear. Almost like Viggo’s preferences were something mystical and terrible, still a secret nobody could find out about.

A secret that wasn’t so secret to nobody, at that point.

Nobody, but him.

The saké found easily its way down his throat, velvety and cold.

  


They came back to their rooms at 1.00 a.m., all drunk and lightheaded.

Except for John.

They were supposed to meet each other for their afternoon shift at 2.00 p.m. the day after. They said goodbye and went to bed.

John walked slowly towards his door, fumbling with his keys. He was almost there when he heard a noise. He listened better: apparently, someone was whining.

He promptly turned towards the sound, in the darkness of the hallway, searching for the gun he held in his jacket, but he realized it wasn’t necessary before taking it out.

He recognized the silhouette walking in his direction, limping a little. Ivan didn’t look well at all, to be honest: apart from his weird walk, his salt and pepper hair were ruffled up and all his suit looked crumpled up in a serious way.

At first he didn’t notice John at all, busy searching for his keys in the pockets, but when he was opening the door to his apartment he suddenly turned and looked at the boy right into the eyes. John remained petrified, because only in that moment he had seen the blood stains on the older man’s jacket. Fresh blood stains.

The look in Ivan’s eyes was surprise and pure pain mixed together with something completely different. Maybe resignation.

John didn’t dare to say anything at all, because he understood Ivan wasn’t supposed to be seen in that state.

The door opened and the man disappeared to the sight.

Only in that moment, John let himself breathe a breath he hadn’t realized to hold.

He undressed without thinking, throwing the elegant and expensive clothes to the floor.

He had no idea about what he had seen.

Maybe it was all part of that big Viggo’s “secret”.

He laid down on the bed, trying to catch sleep. His mind was empty, except for that single, surprisingly detailed memory of Ivan’s eyes in the low light.

John was sure they had tried to tell him something.

That  _something_ made him lose the race against sleep, that didn’t let himself to be caught for the night.

  


The morning came way too slowly, in John's opinion. He looked at the alarm clock on his nightstand, that informed him it still was five o'clock a.m. He sighed, then continued to wrestle with the sheets. 

At six o’clock he decided that he was too much awake and full of worries and filthy thoughts to try and sleep. He got up, put on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt and headed to the gym. He believed that an hour on the treadmill could have shaken away all the electricity from his body, and he was determined to prove it. 

He thought to find the gym empty, at such an hour, but he was wrong. He was switching on the treadmill when he heard a noise, coming from the other side of the room. He could see nobody, but he didn’t care: as long as he couldn’t bear to talk to anyone, in that moment, he quickly ran towards the locker room and hide himself in a shower.

Sooner or later he would have been alone again, he hoped.

He spied on the other person in the gym and he was quite surprised to see Ivan coming out from the steam room, wearing nothing but a towel low on his hips. Evidently, he thought to be alone, too. He must haven’t heard or sensed John’s presence.

John kept looking while the other man was walking towards the locker room, a growing sensation of unease in his pants. Ivan wasn’t damn truly hard to look at, with his tall and lean body and elegant muscles. His fair skin, so fair to shine in the dim light, was almost completely covered in tattoos: from his back to his shoulders, coming up through his chest to his strong and charming jawline, outlined by a dark stubble.

His salt and pepper hair were soaked in sweat, his eyes half closed, he looked relaxed but something in his posture was off. He seemed… Stiff.

When the older man walked inside the locker room and towards the showers, John began wondering if he should have come out of the shadow but in that moment the door of the gym opened and someone else came in.

John’s heart skipped a bit, because there was Viggo on the doorway. Viggo, carefully dressed up in a light gray suit, looking composed as always in his slicked-back hair, even at that early hour in the morning.

“Ivan?” he called, with his deep grave voice. From where he stood, John saw Ivan tensing.

“I’m here.” he answered, turning towards their boss. And it was then that John saw them: several bruises on Ivan’s back, blade cuts or something like that, so fresh they were still bleeding.

They didn’t seem like old scars won in a fight, from their appearance and form they look carefully intentional. They matched perfectly with the tattoos. Together they look like if someone had drawn with a very sharp knife on Ivan’s back, to create a sort of sadistic masterpiece.

John found it oddly… beautiful.

Viggo walked to the locker room too, both hands in his trousers’ pockets. His polished shoes clicked softly against the wooden floor of the gym. When he got near, John saw that he was frowning.

“I searched you in your room, but you weren’t there.” He stated. He was shorter than Ivan, who was considerably a giant, but somehow he looked bigger. Powerful. “You got up early.”

“You’ve found me now, boss.” Ivan kept the eyes fixed on the floor. “Have you got work to do?”

He hadn’t kneel in front of his boss, which was a weird behavior.

“I just wanted to say sorry.”

For the first time since Viggo got in the room, Ivan lowered a bit his head. “What?”

“I recognize that last night I might have been… too rough.” He stretched out his hand to brush a wet lock out of Ivan’s face. Just the simple gesture brought a shiver that seemed to touch every muscle in Ivan’s body. Viggo got even closer, whispering almost right on his ear: “Does it still hurt?”

Ivan shook his head. “No sir.”

“Do you think you can work today?”

Ivan nodded. Then, a little smiled danced over Viggo’s mouth. “Good. I have a few meetings scheduled over the day and I wouldn’t want to do them without your protection, not after what happened yesterday.”

That seemed to be all, as he turned to go out.

“Is it my protection really that important, sir?” Ivan called him back. “Am I really that important?” he added, when the older man turned again to face him.

“Why do you ask such a question?”

“You said his name, Viggo.” he blurted out, all of a sudden. John didn’t understand the situation: it clearly was about something that bothered Ivan so, but he seemed to regret having said it the same moment he talked.

Meanwhile, Viggo stiffened a little bit.

“No, I mean...” Ivan tried to make amend. Viggo dismissed his embarrassment waving his right hand. “Please, Ivan, explain yourself.”

Ivan fidgeted with his feet, then he sighed. “You know, Viggo, that I killed for you in the mornings and I let you have your own way with me during the night for years.”

Viggo agreed. “You are one of my most loyal men. Your service is precious to me.”

Ivan tilted his head to the side. “So I hope you could understand me if I say that all this situation is frustrating.”

Viggo silently studied him for a few seconds, then he caressed his own beard and slowly breathed: “That’s why you’re holding me that grudge,  _uvazhayemyye_ ? Because tonight I said  _his_ name?”

Uvazhayemyye. Dear.

Viggo had called out Ivan with such an intimate tone to weaken John’s knees. He had to sit down, inside the shower, against the cold ceramic floor that helped him to calm a bit his growing confusion. All that conversation was so unusual and weird, so unexpected.

Ivan, on his side, looked annoyed, almost angry, as he snapped: “You said his name while you were  _fucking_ me. I let you do everything you wanted with my body, I let you released all your anger and frustration on me, and you said  _his_ name.”

Viggo’s facial expression was inscrutable. “Are you jealous?”

“That’s not about jealousy!” Ivan made his hands into fists, his arms stretched and trembling along his sides. “It’s about respect. I want respect, Viggo, I think I deserved it. Or, at least, I thought so.” Suddenly, he looked sad. “Before the new boy with the dead black eyes and pale cheeks came to town.”

John had no more doubts about whom they were talking about. He felt his cheeks burn.

Meanwhile, Viggo’s eyes had softened a little more. He took one of Ivan’s fists in his hands and began to caressed it, while staring directly at the other man. “You don’t have to think any less of you. There will always be a special place in my heart, for you.”

Ivan nodded, slowly, then he let his fists to relax. All his body seemed suddenly to be relaxed. 

“Good boy.” Viggo approved, basking in the vision of his almost naked body, his skin sort of glowing because of the sweat. “Now, would you mind taking care of me, sweetheart?”

Ivan furrowed his brows, then lowered his gaze to Viggo’s crotch. He smiled, wickedly.

“I’ve turned you on, haven’t I?”

Viggo licked at his bottom lip, a quick movement but sensual nonetheless, and started caressed Ivan's right arm, from the hand he was still holding up to the wrist, then forearm, then elbow. It looked like his fingers were dancing on the light skin. "There's something, when you look so hurt, that speaks directly to my loins." He winked, smiling. “Besides, that poetry I wrote on your back last night still sings to me with an irresistible voice.”

Ivan laughed, breathlessly, and then Viggo caught his lips in a hungry and fierce kiss, while John held his breath. He put a hand on his mouth, but it was hardly impossible that they had heard him, as busy as they were. Viggo right hand was on Ivan’s nape, holding him still, and the younger man was moaning in their kiss shamelessly.

John’s sweatpants became too tight.

With his free hand, Viggo grabbed the towel and threw it unceremoniously away. Ivan’s ass appeared in all its perfection, while Viggo took a handful of one of his globes. 

Ivan moaned again.

Viggo parted from him, studying him with half-lidded eyes, taking his time to stroke his wet hair, to tease his butthole with his finger.

“Do you want to go upstairs?” Ivan asked, shaking from his head to toes every time Viggo’s finger disappeared inside his hole. For that reaction, his boss seemed smug.

“Sadly, I don’t have enough time for the whole deal.” he complained. “I need to meet the accountants in half an hour, you know I don’t like to be late. But...” He took a look at the empty – looking gym. “We could easily do it here.”

Something slightly changed in his eyes. Something dark, a crueler shade.

His left hand finally reached Ivan’s shoulder and pressed hard, encouraging him to kneel, while he was unbuckling his belt. Ivan complied, looking up at Viggo through his lashes, waiting for a signal to begin. "It's so early in the morning that no one is going to come here disturbing us." 

Viggo took out his penis from his boxers, freeing it from its constraint. Ivan spat on his hand and started working on it, to get it fully hard.

The sound that escaped from Viggo’s lips nearly made John whine.

“Yeah, my good boy.” Viggo approved, stroking Ivan’s jawline, sliding through his stubble. “You know what I like, right?”

At that signal, Ivan carefully peered towards Viggo’s groin and tentatively took the head of his cock between his lips, sucking a little on it before unpredictably taking it all into his mouth, right to the base.

Viggo closed his eyes and moaned. Meanwhile, the pressure in John’s pants was already becoming unbearable.

“Yeah, like that.” he whispered, barely moving his lips. One hand on Ivan’s shoulder, the other on Ivan’s head. “Take it all, my pretty mouth.”

The gym was quickly full of the wet sounds of a mouth that was expertly and eagerly sucking on a cock. Ivan began to massage Viggo’s shaft and balls with one hand, while messily stroking his growing erection with the other.

Viggo acknowledged the building want in his lover by humming his content.

“I’ve turned you on, haven’t I?” he said, mimicking Ivan’s own words, his voice a silky and sultry mixture.

That sound alone, in John’s point of view, was even more exciting than the unique show that was taking place in front of his eyes.

He saw the older man stroking with a feathery touch Ivan’s jaw. “Then let me take the lead, so you will take care of yourself as well as possible.”

Suddenly, the grip on Ivan’s skin became stronger and tighter. A little whine escaped from the younger man’s lips. “Now relax your jaw for me,  _krasota_ .”

_Beauty_ . More than a spoken word. An intense growl of desire. Ivan opened his mouth as much as he apparently could, then embraced his own cock with both hands and cast his eyes upwards.

He looked at Viggo, waiting, obediently.

Something in Viggo’s eyes changed again. A fury, a glorious look of triumph.

He started pumping in his lover's mouth, first slowly and then increasing his pace, while holding his head in place and looking at him right in his eyes. 

It was mesmerizing. He was actually fucking Ivan’s mouth. To the fullest. John swallowed, while his erection in the pants was becoming almost hurtful.

Viggo’s rhythm was precise and crazy, every minute that lead him closer to his climax was made of violent and tough blows, so intense to make Ivan’s nose hit the small curls at the base of his cock.

Nearly the end, Ivan almost choked but never, not once he tried to retreat.

Thick drops of saliva escaped from his mouth to his chin, till his penis that he was erratically continuing to masturbate.

Viggo smiled.

“Take it.” he snarled. “Take it all.”

And, with that, he came with nothing much than a gasp. He unloaded completely in Ivan’s throat while, almost at the same time, he reached his own completion spurting on his stomach and on the floor.

Viggo didn’t let go of Ivan’s head, breathing heavily, caressing his cheekbone with the thumb: “Now clean me up.” he ordered.

John clearly saw Ivan swallowing once, twice, then pumping on his boss’ cock until he slapped him on the face and made him fall backwards.

Some of the wounds on his back opened again, beginning to bleed on the wooden floor.

Viggo was perfect, a perfect poker face, while he closed his pants and buckled his belt, tucking his shirt, regaining his collected look again.

A single silver strand of his mane had escaped from his place during their passionate session and was hanging loose in the middle of his forehead. He wiped it away from his slightly sweaty and flushed face.

He spared a glance to Ivan. “I’ll send someone to clean up.” he informed. “Take a shower.”

He lowered on one knee and grabbed him by the chin, kissing him hard on the mouth. 

“Good job.”

He walked away, hands inside the pockets, as he had arrived, without losing any more time.

No one he would have met could have told that he had just left one of his best men behind his back, a coughing mess in a pool of his own blood and semen.

That was Viggo Tarasov, then, John realized.

He didn’t even dare to breathe in the silence. He watched Ivan getting up from the cold floor, he keep listening while he took a shower and then he waited until the man wiped himself with a towel without making a sound except for the mumbled, single word  _“infirmary”_ . When he seemed to consider himself moderately ready, Ivan dressed up and went out of the gym.

Finally alone, John sighed.

He undressed quickly, opened the water and jerked himself off to the memory of what he had just seen.  _You said his name while you were fucking me,_ Ivan had said, his muscled body naked in the light, all his tattoos against the fair skin and the pliant, submissive look in his eyes.

_Are you jealous?_ Viggo, his powerful body, his wide pupils and his strong hands. John’s eyes were closed but he could see those hands caressing, holding tight, hitting, drawing with a knife on someone’s tattooed back. God, he could almost feel it on his skin.

_Before the new boy with the dead black eyes and pale cheeks came to town._

He was choking himself with one hand, when he came with a strangled moan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always like to thank for the comments and the kudos.
> 
>  
> 
> Lots of hugs and kisses


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here I am. After more than half a year. Did you all lose your hope to see another chapter? I'm sorry, but I'm living a very difficult time at home and busy time at work, so I hope you'll be nice and good to me. I really thank you for your patience.

When John finally felt collected enough to meet other human beings, it was almost eleven o’ clock so he decided to go downstairs, to the dining hall.

He wasn’t surprised to find it almost empty, safe from a little group of men eating scrambled eggs while talking loudly about their last night and, on the other corner of the room, a tired looking Ivan sitting stiffly with his elbows on the table and all his attention to his own cup of coffee. He was chatting quietly, barely moving his lips, with Kesare, who was sitting next to him with all her body tilted towards him and her pretty face concentrated in what he was saying.

Then she nodded, sympathetically, and patted him on the shoulder. John took into account how carefully she was, to touch Ivan where he wasn't wounded, and deduced that she probably knew about his eventful night. And morning.

Before he could decide what to do, if it was a better decision to stay or walk away, Ivan raised his eyes from his steaming cup and noticed him. There was something in his eyes, then, a blurry emotion.

John tried, unsuccessfully, to give a name to it.

Then Kesare saw him, too, and waved a hand to invite him to sit next to them. 

Holding his own cup of coffee so tightly he could almost break it, John joined them.

“Good morning, John.” Kesare greeted him, with a smile. “Did you sleep well?”

John nodded.

“I had a very painful hungover, this morning.” She laughed, shaking her head. “My head felt like it was exploding, really. How much did we drink last night? I remember...”

John let her ramble about their dinner together, without really listening. His eyes went from the coffee in his hands to Ivan's chest, his tie and, finally, his face. His beautiful face, his pale skin, so pale that the two dark purple circles under his eyes stood out like red roses in a jasmine’s field. 

_That same face, in the dim light, looking up obediently. A naked body, almost like a painting of lust between light and shade._

He was stirring his coffee, looking at Kesare in a way that made believe he actually didn’t see her, his strongly cut jawline covered in a soft stubble.

_That same mouth, opened to the fullest, unashamedly accepting Viggo’s cock with almost respectful remission. Spit and sweat making flesh shine._

He took a sip and John saw his throat working around it.

_That same throat that swallowed the consequence of Viggo’s morning glory. The consequence of Ivan’s filthy talent in submission and giving pleasure. Blood dripping on the floor, in the shadow._

Oh, God.

If only he hadn’t seen what he had seen.

Ivan’s eyes rose up and met his. John blinked, once. He felt like a deer caught in the daylight. 

When Ivan raised an eyebrow, a traitorous blush warmed up his cheeks.

“… And so Tiger told me to try green tea mixed with whiskey, apparently that’s a way to wash away the...”

“Kesare, please," Ivan said, clearing his voice, interrupting her. "Could you go to the infirmary for me? I need some more painkillers, I think I don't have enough of them for the day." 

Kesare looked at him, then at John. She nodded, stood up and walked out of the canteen.

“So.” Ivan started, once they were alone. “What’s wrong with you, boy?”

John was surprised. “Sorry?”

“I see something weird in you, today. Like you’re not at ease.”

His voice was incredibly velvety, his throat swallowing another mouthful of coffee. John followed the movement with attention and Ivan caught him staring.

“It’s about what you saw last night?” He asked, tilting his head.

John shook his head. Just a look at Ivan's face and he immediately decided he needed to have a talk about. “I didn't intend to spy on you." John almost excused himself. "I was just coming back to my room from dinner, you caught me by surprise." 

Ivan looked at him, there was dignity in his dark irises and in his posture. Not even the slightest sign of embarrassment for having being caught in such a miserable state. “You want to ask something, I feel it.” 

“He hurt you badly.”

A burst of laughter without happiness escaped Ivan's lips. "That is not a question, more sort of a statement." 

“Is that something he asked from you?”

“You’ve seen him, and since you’re not stupid I guess you’ve heard the stories.” He smirked. “Let’s say that he really doesn’t need to ask, and by the way submission makes the game easier. And quicker.”

John licked his lips. “What he did to you, last night, is the routine for him?”

Ivan shrugged. “No, he takes out the knives only in some special occasions. I guess that, between your arrival and Watanabe’s attack, he somehow needed to party a little.”

“So that’s how he usually celebrate?”

Ivan smirked. “How does that make you feel? Are you scared, boy?”

Well, scared wasn't exactly the right word to describe what he was feeling at that moment. He lowered his gaze to the table, while Ivan tilted again his head to the side. His reaction baffled him.

Before either of them could say anything else, the door of the room swung open and Viggo entered, followed by two well-dressed men who shared the same sharp and cynical light in their eyes. 

Ivan immediately stood up and crossed his arms on the chest lowering his gaze to the floor, as much as any other person in the dining hall.

“Viggo, sir.” Ivan greeted, once the man was near enough to hear him.

“At ease, everyone." he said, with a deep, silky tone that could fool almost everyone. 

Almost.

John, who was looking at his polished shoes, could neatly distinguish the iron fist disguised in that silk glove.

"I thought we were supposed to meet in the afternoon, for our shift, sir." Ivan said. "If something changed in the schedule, we'll be ready in ten to follow you." 

Viggo shook his head. “No, Ivan, my agenda is still the same. So your shift is. I’m here because I need to have a quick talk with John.”

At the sound of his name, John slightly raised his eyes. Viggo was at arm length from him, hands in his pockets, half of a smile gracing his lips.

A strand of hair had fallen from his carefully combed mane, brazenly adorning his forehead.

He looked like a fucking full meal.

“Could you come to my office, dear?”

John couldn’t find in him the voice to answer him, hell he had experienced less throbbing tension from a gun to his head than from those light – blue eye, so he nodded and walked after his boss and the other two men to the nearest elevator. Once arrived at the offices’ floor, one of the two men preceded the small group to open the door of what John soon discovered was Viggo’s personal office, keeping it open for all of them to enter. Viggo sat behind a rather huge desk and the two men sat at his sides, switching on their laptops.

“I hope you won’t find it inconvenient, after all you’ve been here for just a day, but everything happened on that first day, right?” Viggo started, without offering him to sit down. John stood on his feet, trying to keep his line of sight busy with anything else that wasn’t Viggo’s overwhelming presence, discreetly taking on every detail of the room: from the huge window behind Viggo, to the modern looking lamp in the corner, until the very expensive looking carpet and the soft couch against the right wall.

That way, he could try and think.

_That’s why you’re holding me that grudge, uvazhayemyye? Because tonight I said his name._

“Yesterday I talked to the Council of the High Table,” Viggo explained, his voice the only sound in the room other than the light tapping of the two men on their laptops. “They agreed to organize a trial for Watanabe and what’s left of his men. Since that day they will remain under my personal custody.”

John nodded, without seeing where that conversation was leading.

“Even though I sent them the tapes of the cameras installed in the meeting rooms, the Council asked to hear about everything that happened from one other witness.” Viggo put his elbows on the desk and joined his hands in front of his feral face. “Who better than you, my little star?”

John felt Viggo’s eyes trying to study him, almost going past his face, past his skin. He repressed the blushing that menaced to color his face and faced him. “Of course.”

Viggo seemed to choose carefully his next words: "For a guy that young, it won't be easy. Maybe you are accustomed to guns, knives and violence but this, this is politics. Believe me, it's far worse than anything you think you've fought until now." 

“My Patron instructed me well, both in history and politics, in order to not disappoint the expectations of my future family.”

A light crossed Viggo’s eyes at the name of Marcus. It was quick, quick to disappear, like a comet.

“Yeah, I guess so. But I desire you to spend some time with my lawyers here,” and he pointed at the two men, who nodded at the same time. “to try and rehearse your deposition.”

“Whenever you may like, sir.”

Viggo smiled. “Very well. As soon as we know when the trial is going to take place, we will set a meeting.” Hearing the dismissal in his voice, John made a little bow and turned to the door to leave.

“You said Marcus taught you history.” Viggo said, standing up. 

John froze his hand on the doorknob and glanced sideways at him. "Yes, sir." 

“Did he teach you something about me, too?” There was something brand new in his voice. Uncertainty, maybe? And there, again, that weird light while he was staring back at him.

Weird, because it was like a memory crossing his eyesight.

“He taught me everything he knew about Bratva, sir.”

He tugged the corner of his mouth upwards. “That’s not what I asked you.”

John blinked but didn't add anything else. Viggo waited for a few seconds, then he glanced at his lawyers, who were keeping their eyes low with their heads bent towards their computers, and chuckled. 

“Oh, dear, soon you will know better than to play with me like this.”

_Before the new boy with the dead black eyes and pale cheeks came to town._

John bowed his head and walked out.

  


It actually took three weeks to the Council to put together a trial, for Watanabe and his men. In the meantime, John fell in quite a routine at work: three days a week of day shift, three days a week of afternoon shift, one day off that he usually spent at the gym or in his room, reading.

Kesare and the others asked him out almost every night, he joined them a couple of times for a fancy dinner and some heavy drinking soon after. Happy nights, safe for the absence of Ivan. Too busy warming up Viggo’s bed, Tiger said. And every single time John’s heart sank a little more. He wasn’t sure about what made his irritation grow more: the lively interest his boss showed for his right – hand man, or the absolutely uncalled and therefore surprising lack of interest towards him.

Despite the promising start, Viggo hadn't raised a hand to touch him yet. During the shifts he barely acknowledged his presence, the last time he spoke directly to John was that time in the office with his lawyers and didn't look generally in his direction either. There was a time in which John surprised him glancing when he thought nobody could see him, but it happened so rapidly and after that Viggo's face came back to the usual blankness and lack of emotions that John guessed to have just imagined all. 

Everyone was quite surprised, to be honest, at that point: Anatolii commented that, after all, the golden boy wasn’t so worth the chatting, or the spending.

John didn’t pay much attention to him. He was just an impressive amount of cruel stupidity, he enjoyed really a lot venting his frustration by kicking his Russian ass on the gym floor every damn training they did together.

He could never admit it, but deep down he knew that maybe, maybe, Anatolii was right. In organizations such as Bratva, the boss' favor was important. It granted fortune and protection, respectability in good measure, a little immunity toward internal and external attacks, the occasion to do a good career. And, apparently, Viggo's favor was expressed with sex. 

So, he didn’t quite pay much attention to Kesare or Tiger, either, when they said he could consider himself lucky for not having received the “booty call” yet.

After all, he was tired to come back every night to an empty room and a cold bed, consuming his sleep thinking about what Viggo was preparing for him. He wanted to just grab the bull by his horns and fight it. As only he knew how! Everybody had warned him, prepared him to face a volcano. Instead, he was walking in a desert of indifference and ice. The first weeks really hadn’t been what he had thought in his expectation.

One morning he was eating his breakfast with his colleagues when one of the two lawyers came in and waved at him. John stood up and meet him near the entrance door.

“John Wick, mister Tarasov sent me to inform you that the trial is going to take place in two days.” The man said, quietly, the look in his gray eyes as dull as John had never seen before. “He expressed his desire for you to spend some time with us, rehearsing your own deposition.”

John nodded. “Everything it takes.”

“Good.” The lawyer took a look at his watch. “We had another trial in an hour, and you have your shift starting, is it correct? So now it’s not a very suitable moment.” he said, without leaving John the time to give an answer. “Perhaps in the afternoon? At three o’ clock.”

“Sure. Shall we meet in Viggo’s office?”

“No.” he said. “Come to the legal division, it has its base on the sixth floor. Once there, ask of me, Nicolai, or of my colleague, Dimitri. They will teach you the way to our office.”

If the idea of losing another good occasion for a face to face conversation with Viggo disappointed him, John didn't let it show. 

  


That afternoon John took the elevator to the legal area, as it had been told him to do. There he asked the first person he met, a woman with a long blond ponytail, where was Nicolai's office and she showed him. Behind a glass door, there was a classy and impersonal room, with gray and black modern furniture, tons of books carefully arranged almost everywhere and at least four laptops. Nicolai was sitting at his desk, while the other desk in the room was empty: Dimitri, his associate, was working from the small sofa in the corner.

“Mr. Wick is here for the afternoon meeting.” the woman announced. Nicolai dismissed her without looking up from his computer, she turned on her heels and smiled politely. Once she was out of the place, Dimitri moved in his seat and invited John to join him.

“Mr. Wick, like my colleague said the trial against Watanabe and his men is going to take place in two days, at nine in the evening, at the High Table’s palace here in New York.”

"As Mr. Tarasov anticipated, this is gonna be a pretty tough moment for us, because Jacuza is a long time competitor with the Bratva and because the high ranks of Jacuza didn't take very well the decision of keeping his boss and his associates under our custody until the moment of the process." 

“Last week,” Nicolai added, still typing on the keyboards. “There was an ambush, at the docks. A group of Jacuza’s youngest associates, some of the richest in the party.”

“Some of the most stupid, too.” Dimitri added.

“Anyway,” Nicolai continued, with the smallest touch of fun on his thin lips. “They attacked our men, the reason was they were trying to sabotage one of our cargo ships, just arrived at New York, but the truth is they were searching battle." 

“I haven't heard anything of it." John admitted. 

“Sure, why would you?” Nicolai raised an eyebrow. “You’re dedicated to Mr. Tarasov safety and security, that has very little to do with our business at the docks, besides information at Bratva is very restricted.”

“I don’t see the reason in it.” John responded. “I mean, if Mr. Tarasov was meant to have a meeting in a place near the docks, I probably should be informed on the level of danger I would have to face.”

“If Mr. Tarasov had to go near somewhere dangerous, your chief in charge would be informed and you would be instructed. I think we’re talking about Ivan, right?”

John’s hands slightly twitched in the desire of closing like fists. He nodded.

Dimitri chuckled and casually draped an arm over his shoulders. "You're not paid to think, wonder boy. Something as hard as a thought would permanently damage your pretty face.”

Nicolai laughed, covering his mouth with a hand, while Nicolai pinched his cheek with two fingers. John wriggled from his hold and stood still, trying to breathe his rage out, trying to look at a certain tile on the floor and calm himself down before having to speak again.

That was what he was afraid of. Without Viggo's favor, he could have been the best soldier in the world but nobody would have ever respected him, inside that organization. 

“Stop playing with the boy, Dimitri.” Nicolai said, standing up from behind his desk. “The point is, Mr. Wick, that these incredibly brazen japanese boys killed three of our men, and doing that two of them got killed, too. This situation is quickly tensing up, so much that some fools started talking about clans war.”

“We can't permit that to happen, obviously." Dimitri intervened. "It would be economic suicide, and such a waste of men too. Too much dead bodies would draw a lot of unwanted attention to our world." 

John saw their point and nodded.

“Mr. Tarasov wants to close the dispute in a pacific way, but he desires justice also. For himself, to prove a point.” Nicolai explained.

“Yep, we must spread devolve the message that nobody can come to Bratva’s Head with bad intentions, and go unpunished.” Dimitri raised an eyebrow.

“A lot depends on what is going to happen at the trial." Nicolai looked at his own nails, looking almost bored. "That's where you come into the game." 

He looked at John, with a good measure of uncertainty in his eyes. “You know, I think it’s more than a little hazardous to put such a responsibility on your shoulders. Personally, I suggested Mr. Tarasov to call Ivan in, or at least Kesare, but he seemed incredibly keen on the idea of having you as a witness.”

John looked straight into his gray eyes. “I must impress, I got it.”

Dimitri huffed a laugh. “I haven’t understood yet if you have balls, or if it’s just simple arrogance.”

"Anyway," Nicolai resumed his speech. "It's going to be a one night stand. From nine to eleven, probably midnight. All the members of the High Table are going to be there, with their trusted henchmen and maybe their counselors or lawyers. They listen, they think, they judge, so it's important for you to be polite, concise and sure in your speech in order to convey your message.”

“So, starting from the beginning: what happened that morning, in the meeting room?”

John started relating, trying to remember every important detail. The two lawyers stopped him often, giving him advice on his choice of words, on his posture, on his tone of voice.

“It’s important to look straight into your interlocutor’s eyes, never look down, never glance away.”

“Back straight, hands in your lap or at your sides, never smile and, if you are provoked somehow, always answer politely. Thank the court before entering the room and after leaving it, look determined but discreet.”

"Breath with the nose, never exhaled loudly from the mouth. Never snort, never sigh. Stick with the speech you tried, never let the other person lose your thread." 

“I think we’re done.” Nicolai finally said. It was way past dark outside, John’s head ached and he was starting to feel sick. “We can meet again tomorrow, at the same hour, to rehearse a little bit more. Be punctual. Now you can go.”

John was halfway to the door when Dimitri added: “Mr. Tarasov will deliver to your room something appropriate to wear to the trial.”

  


John slammed his own place’s door and laid his back against it. He slowly let himself fall to the floor. If he closed his eyes, all he could see were the lawyers’ taunting faces, their dead gray eyes studying him.

They judged him, badly. They covered him in scorn and too elaborate words. There was too much pride in him to stand that treatment.

He had to take the matter into his own hand, one way or another.

  


The next day John met the two lawyers, in their office, and answered all of their questions, and repeated his story over and over without ever showing a sign of tiredness.

When they declared that everything was done and ready, their eyes showed signs of exhaustion and their backs were bent over the desk. John’s back was straight as ever.

After all, it was simply a matter of control: with patience, sooner or later, a flower loses his petals, revealing an iron core, ready to rust in the rain, or a stainless steel soul, to dance in the winter wind.

  


Next day it was the big day. John was nervous and all of the Bratva’s building seemed to reflect his emotions: people were quieter and darker than ever, everybody focused on their tasks, even Anatolii was uncharacteristically silent.

His group got the morning shift, that day. During all the time, John caught Ivan taking glances at him but chose to ignore them, simply standing behind Viggo’s chair while he talked about business with his accountants and partners. 

When they finished, at one o’ clock, Ivan casually grabbed him by the arm, catching his attention.

His black eyes were encircled by two dark bags, a sign of long sleepless nights. They seemed to stare as deeply as they could into his soul.

“I asked to be assigned as Viggo’s security, tonight, despite my daytime shift.” he informed, which was perfectly normal for him. He just wanted to be sure that his boss, his lover? was safe in a troublesome situation. But something gave John the impression that that wasn’t really what the older man wanted to say.

“That’s fine, I guess?” He answered, trying to read in between the lines.

Ivan nodded, taking a quick look around before adding, with a low voice: “I know you are afraid, that would be a pretty big deal for everyone, even more for a newbie like you, there’s no need to play pretend otherwise.”

“I’m okay.” John claimed, raising a little more his chin.

“In this line of work, in this world, showing weakness is like asking to be skinned alive.” Something softened in Ivan’s eyes, the hint of a smile on his lips, a warmness in his black irises. John was mesmerized by the little wrinkles forming at the side of his eyes. “But that doesn’t mean you have to be an island. You just need to choose carefully who you want to confide in. And...” Ivan stopped, glancing briefly at the toe of his shoes, rubbing his nose. “I had nobody when I first came here. I still have nobody. But I’d like you to know that, if you consider me worthy of your trust, you have me.”

John blinked.  _That_ , that was a surprise. Ivan was his tutor, in the past days they had grown closer, but that? That was a huge deal.

“ _Spasibo_.” Thank you, was all he could manage to say. Ivan took a step back, bowing his head, barely touching his fingers while he lowered his hand from the grip on his arm.

Later, while John was getting dressed in his room, he surprised himself playing that sensation in his head, over and over, his fingers still burning from the faint touch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it! Big hugs

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, please let me know if you have appreciated my work in a comment!
> 
> Big hugs!


End file.
